Helplessness
by darkntwisted
Summary: Natasha isn't herself. Clint is about to find out what's wrong with her. Can the others rescue him before she kills him? Major whumpage ahead. Rated M for future chapters. CHAPTER TWO HAS BEEN FIXED. SORRY!
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own 'Avengers'. I in no way intend to infringe on any copyrights, I just was to have a little fun. At Clint's expense. **_

_A/N: Hello! This is my next story. It'll be dark and twisted, just like my pen name. If you'd like me to continue, please let me know. I'm writing this for myself but I'll be willing to share it if you'd like me to._

_This story will not be cannon. I don't like the idea of Black Widow and Hawkeye having a sexual relationship, besides, that'll screw up my fun. As well, Gordon Cave is a character of my own making. How else was I going to make Black Widow do what I'm going to make her do?_

_Enjoy!_

Chapter One

Clint was used to being able to do anything he set his mind to. His body was a lethal weapon as was his mind. He'd spent a lot of time and energy to ensure that he was capable to dealing with anything. He was Agent Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye. He was a member of SHIELD. He helped to keep the world safe from any form of deliberate harm.

At the moment though, Clint couldn't move a muscle. His well toned body was useless to him as he found himself lying on the carpeted floor. It took a few moments to remember the events that led up to him being here. He'd been invited by his partner, Natasha Romanoff AKA Black widow, for a drink. It wasn't an unusual request. The two of them were partners so they were close. Clint enjoyed drinking a beer and unwinding in her company.

Natasha had been her usual self. As relaxed as an assassin could ever get as she handed him a bottle she'd opened in her kitchen. Clint was on the couch, enjoying the quiet. He enjoyed his new job working with the Avengers but really, Tony Stark talked too much. That was one thing that he and Tasha didn't do. They were familiar enough with each other that they rarely needed to mince words. He wished absently that Tony had figured out that art.

"How was it?" Clint asked as he took a swig from the bottle. Tasha knew what he liked and kept it stocked in her fridge. He did the same thing for her. All of them, with the exception of Thor who moved between here and Asgaard, lived in Tony Stark's building. It was just easier and there were more than enough rooms.

"Routine," Tasha responded as she sank down onto the chair across from the couch. During her last assignment they'd lost communications with the red haired assassin for twelve hours. While not entirely unexpected, it had still set his nerves on edge. Clint was used to being her back up that was what partners did.

"What happened during the black out?" Clint asked. He knew Tasha had been debriefed by Nick Fury and that she probably couldn't talk about the specifics of the assignment but he had to ask.

"Nothing of consequence," Tasha said. She held a glass in her hand but Clint had noticed that she hadn't taken a sip. That was unusual. Also out of the ordinary was the predatory way she seemed to be looking at him. Something was off.

"Something had to have gone wrong," Clint tried to say but his body wasn't functioning quite right. The room was suddenly starting to shift under him. Clint tried to put his beer on the coffee table between them to keep from dumping it only to find he couldn't. The bottle fell nerveless from his hand as he slowly slid sideways onto the couch.

"I'm to send you Gordon Cave's regards," Tasha purred as she set her drink down and moved over to Clint. A prisoner in a body that had betrayed him, Clint could do nothing but watch. He'd lost all control over his body. The only thing he could do was move his eyes as he watched his partner and friend betray him just as his body had.

Gordon Cave. The name reverberated through his mind as he watched Tasha move the chair and table away from the couch. The twelve hours of silence was beginning to make sense but also to raise more questions. Tasha was a very well trained operative. How the hell had Gordon got hold of her and brainwashed her in such a short time? It was the only scenario that made sense.

Gordon was a man Clint had tried to capture or kill twice. Despite all of his training and Tasha's they hadn't managed it. Clearly he was even better connected than Clint had originally feared.

"W..w..why?" Clint managed, the word coming out garbled.

"Revenge of course," Tasha responded happily. Now that the furniture was moved, she came over to her motionless partner. This was something she wasn't used to. Clint sitting still was usually a warning that he was about to do something violent. This time, however, it was her that was about to pounce.

Tasha caught hold of Clint's left arm and pulled him down onto the floor. That was where he'd come back to himself just a moment before. Clint's partner took the time to straighten out his body before disappearing from his line of sight.

Fear burned through Clint's system. His breathing increased as did his heart rate while his blue eyes searched around for his partner. This couldn't be happening. Fury had tested Tasha after her disappearance. Clearly the director had been satisfied that nothing untoward had happened during that time but just as clearly, he'd been wrong.

"Gordon Cave is a real fan of yours, Clint," Tasha purred as she settled down beside Clint. He felt her hands slip under his shirt, her fingers running over his abdomen and stomach as she pulled the cotton material up. The sensation sent spikes of fear through his mind and body. He and Tasha had yet to be intimate. It was why their partnership worked so well. It wasn't muddied by romantic entanglements. The feel of her hands on his body, though, broke through all the logic he'd created to maintain their platonic relationship. It felt so good!

"He wants to make sure you suffer," Tasha continued. She had his shirt up, exposing his well muscled stomach and rib cage. Clint railed in his mind, trying desperately to make his body obey his commands. Nothing happened.

There was absolutely no hesitation in Tasha's hands as she ran them over Clint's chest. The sensation was chilling and arousing at the same time. For a split second Clint was glad his body was beyond his control. His blue eyes widened as he saw Tasha pull a meat mallet from behind her back. With an expression of glee, she hit the metal hammer against Clint's right side.

Pain exploded through his system. Clint did little more than grunt as the pain flashed over him, taking his breath away. His blue eyes closed as he rode the waves, trying to get control as he felt the mallet strike again and again. She'd broken or cracked three ribs. Breathing was difficult from both the damage and the pain. Tears welled up in the corners of Clint's eyes in reaction to the damage done to him.

"There," Tasha said as she sat back on her heels. "Now comes the fun part. The drug I gave you is going to wear off in a few minutes. You're going to act as if nothing has happened. If any of the others figure out you've been injured I'll be forced to kill them."

Tasha stood up and turned away. Clint could hear through the roaring in his ears a drawer open and close in the kitchen fifteen feet away. Tasha had returned the mallet to its home. Then she came back, standing at his feet and staring down at him. She hadn't even bothered to pull his shirt back down.

"You know I can do it. It's what I'm trained for. If you keep our little secret your friends will be allowed to live. If you say anything or give any indication at all that something is up, I'll kill everyone in this building, one by one. You'll get a front row seat to each performance," Tasha stated, her voice cold and emotionless.

Despair settled over Clint while he continued to feel pain radiating from his ribs. She was right. She could do it. From the complete lack of remorse, he knew she would, without a moment's hesitation. Fear rose up, nearly strangling him. Gordon Cave's revenge was brilliant. Not only was Clint going to be made to suffer physically, the suffering would be mental as well as he watched his partner do unspeakable things to him.

Bile rose in Clint's throat. He managed to swallow it as he watched Tasha rearrange her furniture. His finger twitched in response to the pain. His heart froze in grief. What had Gordon done to her?


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Here's chapter two. Since I haven't had a single review I'm not sure if anyone cares if I continue. I'll keep writing it but probably won't update as quickly next time. Life is getting in the way._

_Thank you for those of you who have added this story to your alerts. At least I know you have an interest in taking this ride with me. _

_Enjoy._

Chapter Two

Clint's body came back to him with agonizing slowness. The pain was worse than he could ever remember feeling. It could partly have to do with the fact that it was deliberately inflicted by a friend but he didn't have the time to explore that further. Just as the blond archer found that he could move his arms he heard his communicator beeping. All of the members of the Avengers were required to carry communicators in case a job came up and they needed to be contacted quickly. At the moment though, Clint didn't have enough control of his body yet to respond.

From her position on the chair, watching as her partner returned back to life, Tasha ignored the chiming of the communicator. She was amused by how hard Clint was trying to cover the pain that she knew he was in. He was very good at compartmentalizing, they both were. That was what made them good assassins. But this whole situation was really throwing him.

Clint's communicator stopped making noise. A moment later Tasha's communication device demanded attention. Sighing heavily, she keyed it. "Yes?" she asked as Clint struggled to get to his hands and knees just a few feet from her. Tasha watched with an emotional detachment that was chilling as the blond archer sweated and panted on her floor.

"Hey, I'm looking for Clint. Do you know where he is?" Tony asked. There was excitement in the billionaire's voice.

"Sure. We were just having a drink but he's unavailable at the moment. I'll get him to call you when he's able," Tasha responded.

"Thanks," Tony said. Then the connection was broken. Looking down at Clint, Tasha smiled at him.

"Here's your first test, partner. Stark will be the first to die if he figures out anything is wrong with you," Black Widow stated. Gracing the blond man with another smile, the woman stood up and headed for the kitchen, her untouched drink in her hand.

The pain was incredible. Clint was having trouble breathing properly around the fire brands that were his ribs. Somehow he'd managed to reach his hands and knees. All ready, he was starting to shake with fatigue though. Gritting his teeth, Clint braced himself on the couch and staggered to his feet. The world shifted drunkenly around him. Whatever she'd used on him was not quite out of his system. This was going to be hard enough without the added complication.

"Don't forget to call," Tasha called from the kitchen. Water ran as she cleaned the glass she'd gone in there with. Shaking like a leaf, Clint leaned against the wall as he tried to reach the door. The sooner he got away from this pod person that had replaced his partner, the sooner he could get a hold of himself.

It took nearly every ounce of strength Hawkeye had to get out of the room without collapsing to the floor. Once outside, he leaned against the wall, gingerly placing a hand over his ribs. Pain exploded with even the slightest pressure. Groaning despite his best efforts, Clint had to bend forward, putting his head down to keep from throwing up. How was he going to do this?

Too much time had passed by the time Clint started to feel a little less shaky. Taking as deep a breath as his ribs would let him Clint stood back up and keyed his communicator. It was answered immediately by a too hyper Tony.

"Get your ass down here. I've made you some new equipment," Tony said. Inwardly, Clint thought the man was drinking too much coffee.

"Can it wait?" Clint asked his voice sounding strained. Quickly he cleared his throat. That action caused more pain to flare. Clint started to shake again. Damn it.

"Ahhh," Tony began. "No. I want you to try these out in case I need to make some adjustments."

"Fine," Clint grated. It was the last thing he felt like doing at the moment. He was lucky that his usual demeanour with the annoying billionaire was less than hospitable. At least he didn't have to pretend to be happy while his side was on fire. "I'll be there in a minute."

OOOOO

The trip down to Tony's research lab was uneventful but excruciatingly painful. The elevator ran better than most but every bump sent lightning bolts through his body. By the time Clint walked off the damned contraption he was pale and sweaty. It took everything he had to keep from shaking as he walked nonchalantly towards the dark haired man vibrating a few feet away.

"What?" Clint asked. The sooner he found out what the man wanted, the sooner he could retreat to his quarters and try to wrap his side up. With any luck it would help to reduce some of the pain.

"I've been working on a new bow and arrows for you," Tony said as he stepped aside from the table he'd been standing in front of. On it Clint could see a fantastical looking bow and deadly appearing arrows. Under normal circumstances, Clint would be virtually salivating to try them. Despite the fact that his vision was trying to double up on him, the blond man stepped forward and reverently ran his hands over the weapons.

"Do you like them?" Tony asked. He was bored. There hadn't been many assignments for him of late so he'd had to figure out a way of occupying his time. Given that the others all seemed to have more than enough weapons of their own, he'd turned his impressive mind to Robin Hood's toys.

"Yeah," Clint responded. It was all he could get out. His hands were itching to try them. His body was groaning in protest.

"Let's head down to the range. I want to see you try them," Tony said. He was still vibrating with excitement.

The thought of pulling a bow at the moment was enough to bring tears to Clint's eyes. To properly draw a bow, he was going to have to pull on the muscles over his injured ribs. This wasn't going to be fun. "Lead the way," Clint managed as he pulled the bow over his shoulder and picked up the quiver of arrows.

"Take the stairs?" Tony volunteered. He really did have too much energy. Running the stairs might expend some of it.

"Nah," Clint replied, fear spiking through him but his face showed no signs of it. "The elevator's fine."

"Fine," Tony said as he pushed the button. The steel doors slid open and the two men stepped inside. As unobtrusively as he could manage, Clint braced his aching body into the corner to minimize the jarring.

"How's Natasha?" Tony asked as he bounced on his heels. He was staring at the numbers, willing the elevator to move faster. "She tell you what happened?"

"She's fine," Clint said his voice nearly normal. Apparently Tony's agitated state kept him from paying much attention. For once Clint was happy that the man was so self centered.

After an eternity, they finally reached the right floor, below ground level. Tony had chattered the entire time while Clint's dialogue had been mostly grunts. It was all he could manage. The longer he stayed upright, the more the pain increased. By the time the doors slid silently open, Clint had to use the hand rail on the inside of the elevator to drag his exhausted body forward.

Standing in the stall of the firing range, Clint emptied his mind of everything but bringing the bow up, an arrow all ready notched between his fingers and slowly pulling the taunt string back until his hand rested beside his cheek. The pain was nearly overwhelming. It forced Clint to release the arrow before he was ready.

"I thought you never missed?" Tony stated as he watched the arrow arc over the target.

"I don't," Clint managed. He hid the sweat and shaking hands with anger. "You screwed them up. I can't adjust them to a proper trajectory."

It was a bold faced lie. Clint could shoot an arrow that had been broken in half and still hit the bull's eye. He'd done it more than once. But he couldn't draw on the bow again, Tony had the string too tight, just the way Clint usually liked it. He needed an excuse to not have to do it. If there was something wrong with the arrows, Tony would have to adjust them or go back to the drawing board. Either activity would buy him time.

"Really?" Tony asked, looking at the archer out of the corner of his eye. What the hell? How could he screw up the weight on the arrows that badly? He'd used the archer's own arrows as a starting point.

"I can't use these the way they are," Clint grated, thrusting the weapons back at the billionaire. "Call me when you figure it out."

Not pausing to see if the man was suspicious, Clint turned and headed for the elevator. He had to reach it, no matter what. Tony's life depended on it. Clint had no doubts, despite the fact that Tasha hadn't told him, that she was somehow watching the video feeds from around the building. Hopefully she'd bought his little performance.

When the doors slid open, Clint virtually dove into the metal cubicle and slapped the number to the floor his quarters were on. Bracing himself in the corner again, Clint slowly slid to the carpeted floor. The trip seemed too long, his legs were too weak. His ribs were burning so badly he wouldn't have been surprised to see smoke rising from his side.

By the time the doors slid open again, Clint was upright and stepped off onto his floor as if nothing was wrong. It would have taken unusually acute sight to see that his knees were trembling and that sweat was pouring down his back. Luckily, he met no one as he keyed his room open and stepped inside. As soon as his door shut, Clint stumbled to his couch and sank down on it. He was asleep in an instant.

_Hello again. I just happened to start reading my story this afternoon because I was bored. As a result I realized that I somehow managed to put chapter two of another story in place of this one. I'm really sorry. I still don't know how I managed that. _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you to _ yolynnjones _and for taking the time to review this. I love hearing from you. It helps to keep me motivated to know that readers are interested in it. Thank you also to those of you who have added this to your favourites and story alerts._

_Ok. Yeah, I get a little twisted in this chapter. It's what I do best. If there are anything that you would like to see happen between Black Widow and Hawkeye, please let me know. If it amuses me I'll try to incorporate it into this story. _

_Thanks for coming along for the ride._

_Enjoy._

Chapter Three

The world came back slowly, far too fast for Clint's current state. The first thing he was aware of was the fact that he had been thoroughly betrayed. The feelings that realization evoked were nearly enough to keep him under. But, Clint was never one to back away from a challenge. Floating towards consciousness, he promptly became aware of the pain burning in his ribs.

Immediately he breathing became a little shallower but otherwise, he managed to cover the fact he was in pain. It wasn't nearly as bad as when he'd fallen asleep or was it passed out? Clint wasn't sure. At the moment he didn't really care either.

With careful precision, Clint pried his protesting body off of the couch and carefully made his way to the bathroom. He needed Tylenol and tape to wrap his ribs. Opening his medicine cabinet, he pulled three pills out of the bottle and downed them dry. It would take a little while for him to feel the effects of the medication but at least it should help.

Clint paused, staring at the white medical tape he planned to wrap around his ribs, in an attempt to stabilize them. It was old school but it might help. Reaching under his sweaty shirt, Clint tentatively felt the skin over his stomach. It was too wet, the tape would never stick. Besides, he really needed a shower.

Giving in, he turned to the glass panelled shower and turned it on. While the water warmed up, he stripped down. Tasha had been good. The only marks he found on his skin were three squares with triangles in them where the meat tenderizer had struck him. The squares were black as pitch and swollen. Not entirely unexpected. They still send waves of stabbing pains through him under the least pressure. That wasn't going to be good when he wrapped them but he'd adjust.

Clint slid the shower door aside and stepped into its confines. The feel of clean water on his skin was wonderful. He learned very quickly, though, that he had to be careful to keep his injured side away from the piercing jets of water. It hurt too damned much. Quickly feeling his strength ebb, Clint caught hold of a face cloth and the soap. He'd better hurry while he could.

The water was warm but not hot. It was still warm enough, however, to fog up the glass doors. Clint kept a careful eye on the room beyond them, as best he could, just in case. Still, he was startled to see the other pane of glass side over and a female hand reach in and turn the cold water off. Instantly hot water struck his skin, scalding it.

"Damn it," Clint swore as he stepped back and opened the other pane, trying to get out of the shower. Tasha stood in his way.

"Stay there," she ordered as she pushed him back inside. "Touch the temp and I'll consider that non compliance."

Fear burned through Clint. He was being burned, the water was that hot but he knew what non compliance would entail. One of the other members of the Avengers wouldn't make the day. Gritting his teeth, Clint tried to find a spot in the shower where he could protect himself from the spray. There wasn't one. Finally, he was reduced to huddling in the corner, his arms wrapped around his head, his body as small as possible to keep the exposed surface area as small as possible.

The water hitting him felt like needles of fire. Huddled as he was only exacerbated his trouble breathing thanks to his ribs. His core temperature was rising as his skin turned bright red. Boils were beginning to break out on his left side and his leg. His shoulder, arm and head were out of the direct stream. Damn but it hurt. Clint had thought his partner couldn't find a more painful or humiliating way to hurt him. He was wrong.

"Aw, that's cute," Tasha purred. Daring to look up, Clint found that his partner had slid the pane glass door open and was looking down at him. In his torment, he hadn't noticed. Definitely not a good sign.

"Enough?" Clint managed through clenched teeth. His finger nails were starting to turn a little blue as his restricted breathing kept him from getting enough oxygen. The roaring in his ears was back and his vision was getting a little blurry.

"Not quite," Tasha said. Grinning broadly, she closed the door, leaving her partner to continue to burn.

After what felt like an eternity to the young archer, but in reality was only about two minutes, Tasha reached in and turned the water off. Sliding the doors to the side, she looked at the blond man as he continued to huddle, shaking with the intensity of the pain he was now in.

"Get up," Tasha ordered, stepping back to allow Clint room.

Clint's head swivelled to look at the woman. He hadn't been naked in front of her before. While he had no problems with being shy, at this moment the last thing he wanted was to stand up, possibly exposing himself to further damage.

"I won't repeat myself," Black Widow hissed. Anger was burning in her bright eyes. Afraid of what she might do, Clint slowly and carefully stood up and extracted his protesting body from the shower. He stood, dripping wet, shaking like a leaf, his skin feeling like it was two times too small and as miserable as he could ever remember being, in front of his partner.

"Dry yourself off," Tasha ordered as she threw a towel at him. He was getting the floor wet.

Not bothering to respond, Clint dried his skin off as carefully and as quickly as he could. With his hair being short it only took a moment to run the towel over it and then he wrapped the material around his hips. Somehow it made him feel a little less vulnerable.

"What now?" Clint asked, his stomach around his ankles. He'd thought his ribs hurt. His left side from just below his arm pit to his ankle was stinging like a son of a bitch. While drying himself, he'd seen numerous blisters from second degree burns but the rest of him was simply red and damned tender.

Before Natasha could respond, her communicator went off, as did Clint's. His stomach dropping further, he glanced at his partner before heading to his bedroom. He needed to get dressed. They were being called to the command center. There must be some kind of a situation that Nick Fury thought they needed to take care of.

"Remember," Tasha called to him as she reached his front door. "Not a word." With a quiet chuckle, she left Clint's quarters.

It hurt to move. His skin was tight from the burn and the blisters just made things worse. Clint stifled a groan as he bent to retrieve underwear and socks from their drawers in his dresser. His uniform hung in his closet. He tried to ignore it when his hands shook while he pulled on his clothes. How the hell was he going to use his bow with any accuracy while he was shaking like this?

Swallowing fear and bile, Clint paused for a moment to stare at his face in the mirror. Deliberately, inch by inch, he forced his usual mask over his features. It was what the others were expecting to see. It was the best he could do. Satisfied that he looked relatively normal Clint headed out his door.

OOOOO

"Took you long enough," Stark gripped from his position on the other side of the table. The team was gathered around it, watching the Intel that Nick Fury's people had gathered for them play over its surface.

Clint didn't bother to answer. He tried very hard to not look at Tasha, standing just a few feet away looking every inch like the person he used to know. Meanwhile, he felt nauseous from the pain, his skin was tender and itchy as hell under his uniform, and he was having a hell of a time keeping his vision from going double. It made concentrating on the briefing nearly impossible but somehow he managed to get most of the finer points.

"Are you ready?" Nick asked, looking around the table expectantly. Everyone was nodding their heads in agreement. Nick examined each in turn, his eyes eventually falling on Clint. The archer wouldn't meet his eye. Interesting.

"Wheels up in ten minutes. Grab your gear," Nick instructed. It should be pretty much a milk run. The team was heading down to South America to deal with a drug lord. Drugs were a plague that Fury felt particularly strongly about eliminating but that wasn't the only reason for the run. This drug lord liked to fund terrorist groups. Nick hated that they had to defend humans from other humans. Didn't they have enough problems all ready?

Quickly and efficiently the team headed for the elevators, intent on reaching the ready room where their equipment and weapons would be waiting for them. Then they would head to the hanger. Watching them leave, Fury noticed that Clint was moving a little stiffly. Well, at least he would just be back up on this trip. Turning from the men and woman, Nick concentrated on the next fire he had to put out.

OOOOO

In his seat for the flight, Clint tried to feign sleep. It would keep him from having to speak to the others. The nausea was getting better but the pain was only getting worse the longer he had to wear his Kevlar vest and the rest of his uniform. He desperately wanted to scratch at his too itchy skin but he knew that would only make things worse.

Across from him he could feel Tasha watching him. As a matter of pride he wouldn't give her any sign of his discomfort. The Tylenol had taken some of the edge off his ribs but somehow that wasn't much of a consolation at the moment.

Around him, Clint could hear the others discussing the details of the mission. It was surreal to know how much pain he was in but he couldn't let on. All around him were men who would lay their lives down for him. They all ready had. But he wasn't about to be the one who got them killed.

"Are you okay?" The voice was right beside him. Clint barely managed to keep from jumping, with the noise of the plane's engines he hadn't heard Steve come up. Opening his blue eyes, Clint examined 'Captain America' out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm fine," Clint responded automatically. Steve shifted beside him, trying to get a little more comfortable. He knew the archer wasn't used to being part of a team, that he was used to working alone. That was what assassins did best after all. But there was something else going on, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

"You don't look fine," Steve pressed. Hearing the words, Clint's stomach clenched in response to the fear they elicited. He could see Tasha watching them intently while not seeming to. Rogers was skating too close to the edge.

"I stayed up too late doing research," Clint said, finally looking at the blond man. His eyes were clear and steady by sheer force of will.

"What were you researching?" Steve asked. The longer he talked to the archer, the more he was convinced something was off.

"You. I was watching your old 'Captain America' movies from back in the day. Very informative," Clint said, arching an eye brow. He knew that Steve was embarrassed by his early publicity work. The fact that he knew about those awful films was enough to send the man into a tither.

"What?" Steve asked, suddenly very self conscious. "Where did you find those?" Steve had hopped desperately that those things had been burned. Doing that publicity stuff had been important for supporting the war but it was still a very awkward time in his life. One he preferred to forget.

"They're available to anyone with a computer. I streamed them all. Great stuff," Clint responded. He could see the color rise on the man's cheeks. He'd made him uncomfortable, maybe even downright embarrassed. It had the desired effect. Steve couldn't get away from him fast enough.

Resting his head back, crossing his arms over his chest, Clint tried to feign sleep again. After a particularly brutal piece of turbulence, he didn't have to pretend. His pain increasing exponentially, Clint passed out.

OOOOO

Coming back in a panic, Clint sat bolt upright in his seat. As casually as he could manage given his current state, the archer looked around, checking to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily, only Tasha had been paying attention. Across the aisle he could see a small smile playing on his lips. Damn he really missed his partner.

"Ten minutes," the pilot said over their coms. Then they were all busy, making sure they had what they needed for the mission.

OOOOO

The hike had nearly killed him. Clint had never been so happy to reach a compound before in his life. The others had had their own issues and so had been unaware of what was going on with him. That was just as well.

Thankfully, for this mission, Clint was to select a tree, climb it and be prepared to support the others as they went in to deal with the drug lord, his men, his product and his weaponry.

It didn't take long, slogging through the jungle, for Clint to find the tree with the best vantage point. Climbing it was another thing entirely. Even using his climbing gear nearly wasn't enough to get him to where he needed to be. Panting like an overheated dog, Clint eventually made his position. He reached it late but the others didn't seem to notice.

Swearing under his breath, Clint tried to get comfortable. It was an impossible feat. No matter what position he took, his body protested. He was still shaking and weak as hell. Wiping his hand across his mouth, Clint tried to stifle the urge to vomit. That wouldn't help to hide his location.

Over his com he could hear the others talking as they got into position and prepared to begin the assault. Swallowing for the last time, Clint got his bow and arrows ready. He wasn't going to draw it unless he had to but he wanted to be ready.

Time passed at a snail's pace. The stiller he sat, the less his ribs ached. The stiller he sat, the more his skin itched. Clint wasn't sure which was worse. Under his uniform he could feel some of his blisters burst, soaking his clothes with fluids that he didn't want to think about. Once they broke, the blisters added to the cacophony that was his body.

Below him, Clint watched as the others fought the drug lord and his forces. The Avengers were well trained and better equipped. It didn't take them long to overpower the men. Clint was grateful for that. He was even more grateful that he didn't have to shoot at anyone. At the moment he didn't know if he had it in him.

Finally the all clear came through the com. Sweating profusely, Clint scaled back down the tree. His side was in agony the entire time. He barely managed to keep from simply falling. At the bottom he found Tasha waiting for him.

"What do you want?" Clint grunted. He leaned against the tree for support. He wasn't sure he had the strength to make it to the rendezvous point. He hated himself for showing weakness in front of this monster.

"How are you holding up?" Tasha asked. For a split second Clint thought that she was back, that his partner had beaten the brainwashing or conditioning, whatever had turned her into this thing. Then he saw the evil glint in her eyes. She was enjoying this.

"Go to hell," Clint responded. The tree kept him from falling but that was pretty much it. He wasn't finding that his strength was returning at all. He hadn't even undone his climbing harness yet. He didn't have the energy.

"Now, be nice. I'm going to make sure you get to the rendezvous point. Don't want the others to know something's wrong," Tasha said. Without bothering to ask for permission, she undid his harness and pulled it down over his legs. Clint tried desperately to not flinch at her touch. He was only partially successful.

"Thanks," Clint said. He wasn't sure if he was being sincere or not. It didn't matter. The only thing that did was that he made the rendezvous. He wasn't sure if it was deliberate or not but Tasha pulled his right arm across her shoulders. That left his injured ribs pressed up against her hard body.

"Hold on," Tasha said, that glint back in her eyes. Within three steps, Clint was having trouble keeping up with her. Each step bumped his ribs against her, sending lightning bolts of pain through his body and mind. The pain was bad enough that it ran his discomfort with his burned skin out of his thoughts. It didn't stop her. Black Widow just kept moving, pulling Clint along beside her.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thank you to DevinBourdain,yolynnjones, and Sinkme for taking the time to review this story. It's very hard to write in a vacuum. Just because it amuses the hell out of me doesn't mean anyone else appreciates it. It's always nice to know that I'm not the only one. _

_I hope you enjoy the new chapter. I'll try to get the next one out sooner but I can't promise anything. Life gets in the way...a lot. _

_Enjoy!_

Chapter Four

The duo reached the rendezvous site about the same time as the others. Tasha had stopped basically carrying Clint a mile back. While, at the moment, she was willing to help him, the rules still applied. If any of the others figured out that Hawkeye was injured, by Black Widow's hand, she'd have to kill them.

Once everyone was back up in the plane, Clint settled down in his seat and feigned sleep again. It had worked before, hopefully it would work again. If he was asleep, he didn't have to discuss the mission with anyone. That would keep any of the other members of his team from figuring out something was up. It didn't take long though before he wasn't really pretending any more. He was exhausted. Just as the archer slipped into unconsciousness, he heard Steve and Tony talking. He heard his name mentioned but no specifics. Despite the fear that burned through him, he just couldn't manage to stay awake to try to fend off their concern.

Tasha listened to the men's conversation with interest. They were concerned for the archer's apparent disinterest in the mission. Before either of them had the chance to discuss Clint's attitude further, though, they were distracted by their prisoner. That made Tasha happy. She didn't want to have to kill everyone at once while Clint was dead to the world. Where would the fun be in that?

The two men turned their attention to the drug lord they had secured toward the front of the plane. The man was going to go to an American prison. One that had just recently been built by SHIELD to house those prisoners that could continue running their syndicates from behind bars. In this prison, the prisoners had no form of contact with the outside world, ever. It seemed like a good place to put him.

OOOOO

The trip was short for Clint, for which he would be eternally grateful. He slept until just before they landed. He felt significantly more energetic but was still in a great deal of pain. As the plane touched down, the archer barely managed to keep from grimacing as it shuddered when the tires made contact with the cement. Quickly, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his discomfort. The only one watching him was Tasha. His skin started to crawl instantly. As calmly and disinterestedly as he could, Clint turned his attention away from her.

All the woman did was smile at him. The smile had a predatory edge to it but Clint had come to expect that. It still made him uncomfortable though. Then they were gathering their gear and preparing to disembark. Even after all the sleep Clint had had, all he wanted to do was go take a shower and climb into bed. His body had had it.

As quickly as Clint could manage, he ditched the others and headed to his quarters. First, of course, he made sure his weapons and gear were stored properly. That was what he'd been trained to do and he did it automatically.

With his last reserves, Clint got up to his quarters, keyed the door open and reached his couch. He didn't even feel it when he hit the cushioned confines, he was all ready out.

OOOOO

When Clint woke up, he felt like death warmed over. The pain was only part of it. As carefully as he could manage, Clint pried himself off the couch and made his way to the bathroom. He desperately needed a shower but after his last attempt he wasn't about to take the chance again. Instead, he pulled the top few layers of his clothes off until he reached his t-shirt. It was no longer white. There were large areas where it had turned a yellow hue thanks to the broken blisters.

Groaning, Clint tried to pull the shirt off over his head. It refused to budge as the discharge had dried, effectively fusing the material to his body. The groan became a stifled scream as he tried a little harder. All he managed to do was pull the lower edge of the shirt away from his skin, eliciting blinding pain and blood.

"Damn it," Clint cursed as he held onto the edge of the sink. His knuckles were white with the effort it was taking him to remain upright. Blinking back tears that had sprung up when he had pulled on his shirt, Clint considered other options.

The best he could come up with that didn't involve finding Bruce, was using a wet face cloth to soak the shirt. Once it was wet enough, Clint slowly, carefully pried it off his side. The process was excruciating and incredibly time consuming. Luckily, there were no missions so far today and he didn't really have anything else scheduled.

As if on cue, Clint's communicator buzzed. Sweaty, weak, and more than a little sick, Clint growled. Who the hell wanted him now? Thumbing it, he concentrated on keeping his voice normal as he answered.

"Yeah?" Clint was amazed that he sounded as healthy and controlled as he did. Training always won out.

"How's the hang over?" Stark asked. Damn but the man still had too much energy. How did he do that?

"What?" the response slipped out before Clint had a chance to think about it. Where had Stark gotten that impression?

"Sorry, made an assumption. Won't do it again," Stark said. "I fixed up that gear. When can you test it?"

At the thought of drawing his bow Clint's side spasmed, hard. It took his breath away, temporarily leaving him unable to respond.

"What? You got a heavy date or something?" Stark asked. He knew Clint was a man of few words but still, a simple grunt indicating time and date wasn't too much to ask, was it?

"Ah," Clint hedged. What the hell could he tell the billionaire? He fell back on the simplest lie he could think of. "I have an appointment downtown."

"Fine. When can you try this stuff out? I want to make sure my adjustments are right," Tony said. There was a slightly disappointed edge to his voice now. It would have been comical if Clint hadn't been in such rough shape.

"I'll get back to you," Clint said. He closed down the link. As soon as he was only holding onto the sink with one hand, the archer began to sink towards the ground. Desperately, he aimed for the toilet and managed to just barely reach it.

The ever present pain nearly suffocated the archer while he waited for it to abate. Finally, though, he could turn his attention back to getting his shirt off. He was only half way there. Bracing himself, he caught hold of the cloth and rinsed it out. The cool water from it actually felt pretty good against the burns on his side. Then he had to pull on it.

By the time Clint had gotten his shirt all the way off, he had no energy left. The thought of taking a shower was beyond him. Sitting on the toilet, he waited, hoping that eventually, he might get enough strength to make it to his bed. The shower was going to have to wait. Clint's forearms were braced against his knees while his head hung down between his shoulders, drops of sweat slowly dripped off his forehead to land on the floor below.

"Son of a bitch," Clint swore as despair tried to overwhelm him. How was he going to do this? If a mission came up he was well and royally fucked. Even testing weapons was beyond him.

"Problems?" Tasha's voice asked from the doorway. Clint jumped in surprise. Not a good move. The sudden response jarred his side, the muscles over his ribs spasmed again. He hated that this woman was getting to him this badly. Under normal circumstances there was no way Tasha could sneak into his apartment and get this close to him without his knowing it.

"Leave me alone," Clint grunted as his back arched in response to the spasms. Automatically his hand came to rest over the area, it didn't help.

"That's not going to happen," Natasha responded, that evil glint back in her eye. "Strip."

"What?" Clint asked, not sure if he heard her right. At least he was hoping he hadn't.

"You heard me. You're taking another shower."

Clint went still for a few moments while he considered his options. There were none. While still sitting on the toilet he carefully removed his shoes and then his socks. By the time he was done, he was breathing heavy and covered with sweat. Using the sink for a crutch, the archer pushed himself up onto his feet. His side hadn't calmed down yet but he doubted that Black Widow was going to wait for that to happen.

Not looking at the woman, Clint mechanically undid his belt, the button on his pants and pulled the zipper down. Getting them off was a little more difficult but he did that too. Finally, he was down to his underwear. Clint paused. He really didn't want to take off the thin material in front of Natasha. It was too humiliating. It left him feeling too vulnerable.

"Playing shy are we?" Tasha asked. She'd moved into the room and was looking at her partner. Damn but he looked rough. Just the way she liked him. The smile was back. Casually, she reached down. With one hand she held him in place while the other hitched the waist band of his briefs and pulled them down. "Lucky for you I'm not interested in that. Not yet anyway."

Those words froze Clint in his spot. Before he had a chance to digest their meaning fully, Tasha tossed him towards the open shower door. "Get naked and get in," she ordered.

Knowing he didn't have any other choice, Clint managed to get his underwear off before stumbling into the shower. Instinctively he turned his right side away from the jets. The burns were going to sting no matter what so he chose to protect the ribs as much as he could.

"Turn around," Tasha said. "Face me."

That was a really bad idea. Clint knew it. Not only would it put his ribs in the direct line of the jets, it would also expose his front to anything she might have planned. After her earlier words, he wasn't sure that a sexual component to her torturing him wasn't going to come around. He hoped not. Slowly, Clint turned until he was facing his partner.

"Much better," Tasha said, the smile back on her face. She slid the glass pane shut just long enough to reach the controls for the shower. Clint was expecting her to hit him with more scalding water. Instead, she turned the cold on, full blast.

As soon as the stream of water hit him, Clint felt his knees begin to buckle. The glass door slid open and Tasha stood outside it, watching him. Clint knew that if he allowed himself to fall that she was going to do something even worse to him. Bracing his left hand against the side of the shower, he managed to stay on his feet.

The water started out as tepid but rapidly turned skin numbingly cold. If it wasn't coming out at top velocity, it would have almost been a good thing. As it was, Clint moved his arm to deflect some of the pressure. Tasha didn't object, she simply continued to stare at him with that smile on her beautiful face, twisting it into a horrible mask.

It was all Clint could take. Looking straight ahead, he allowed his mind to check out. He disassociated. It was a defence mechanism he had that he used when things got really bad. His consciousness, the part of his mind that made him Clint Barton buried itself deep inside his psyche. Tasha couldn't reach him. The pain couldn't reach him. Yet, he maintained his upright position with locked knees.

Tasha took in every inch of her partner's face. She revelled in his pale complexion. She knew that he was usually quite tanned, just like her, from spending hours in the sun waiting for a mark. The fact that he was so pale showed how much she was getting to him. That made her happy. The fine lines of pain around his eyes and mouth also made her happy. Then she looked into his beautiful blue eyes.

"Damn you," she swore. The lights were on but nobody was home. She'd seen her partner like this before, during particularly extensive interrogations. It worked very well but only for short periods of time. Well, she could wait him out. Eventually the freezing cold water would bring him out of it. All ready she could see him shivering and his teeth starting to chatter as the cold lowered his core temperature. When the shivering stopped, then he was in trouble.

Patiently Tasha waited while Clint simply stood in the shower, the cold water battering his ribs. His teeth stopped chattering two minutes in. The shivering stopped after four. By then Tasha lost patience. It was out of character for her but then so much of what she'd done in the past few days had been too.

"Fine," she said. Frustrated, she kicked out at him, catching Clint in the chest right beside where the black bruises were over his ribs. Air whooshed out of his lungs as Clint hit the back wall of the shower, his head making solid contact with the hard tiles. She'd hit him with enough force that the archer careened off the wall and headed towards the glass doors of the shower. He was unable to stop himself. Tasha closed the door on him before he came back out. Instead, he hit the glass and then slowly slumped to the floor of the shower, unconscious.

Tasha opened the shower door again, just to make sure. She smiled when she saw her partner's lifeless form slumped on the shower floor. The cold water continued to pour over him. The only concession she made before leaving the room was to deflect the water from his face, keeping Clint from drowning. Then she closed the door and left.

OOOOO

Clint would never know how long he was unconscious. It could have been five seconds, ten minutes or two days. He had no idea. All he knew was that he was colder than he could ever remember being when he finally came back to himself. The water had numbed his skin to the point it was beginning to take on a bluish twinge. He was weak as a kitten and his muscles were stiffened to the point he could barely move.

A stifled scream was ripped from Clint as he lifted one of his feet to hit the shower controls. His muscles spasmed, tightening like a bow string and causing more pain to flash through his body. Panting, he barely managed to turn the damned thing off. Once the water stopped, he collapsed back onto the cold porcelain.

Shaking with pain and fatigue, Clint laid where he'd fallen, trying to find a reserve of strength that would get him to his bed. For the longest time he couldn't move. He was too cold. He was too weak. He was too thirsty. Well, that was one thing he could fix. Slowly, because that was the only speed he could currently manage Clint turned his head and sucked up some of the water from the shower bottom. There wasn't a lot but it was enough for now.

His right arm was pretty much useless. Any movement of his arm or side nearly caused him to pass out. He remembered Natasha kicking him in the chest, just what he hadn't needed. Actually, he didn't need any of this. He was having enough trouble adjusting to working with a group. He was used to working with Tasha. That was pretty much it. Now he didn't even have her.

Renewed anger at her betrayal gave him strength. Clint dragged himself, one armed, out of the shower. His wet skin slid easily over the tiled floor of the bathroom. That was a good thing, all ready he was growing weak. He paused long enough to grab hold of a towel hanging off the back of the door.

Using his legs and his good arm, Clint pushed his battered body out of the bathroom and across the floor of his living room. The water that had helped him slide before had long since been rubbed away. He had to pause to get his breath back half way to his bedroom. He used the time to move the blanket under him. He didn't need friction burn on his butt. That might be harder to explain than all of this.

As he moved, Clint could feel the open blisters from his burns cracking. Then he could feel a warm liquid trickling down his side. He ignored it. It was bad enough that he was crawling to his bed. There was no excuse for the shape he was in. As Hawkeye he'd been wounded many times and never been reduced to this state. Those times, though, he'd been able to ask for help. Those times he wasn't continually abused. Sighing, Clint turned back to dragging himself to his bed.

OOOOO

At last, his bedroom. Luckily, it wasn't a large room. By now he was no longer feeling like an ice cube but he was still having problems with muscles cramps on top of everything else. The towel helped significantly in both helping him slide and keeping him from getting friction burn. On the floor, looking up at his bed, Clint realized it wouldn't help him get the three and a half feet to the top of his bed. Why did Stark have to have such tall beds anyways?

The last of his strength evaporated. A very strong muscle spasm that ran from his chest to his broken ribs decided it for him. Reaching up with his good arm, Clint caught hold of the blanket at the foot of the bed, pulled it down and wrapped himself up in it as best as he could. Slightly warmer than he had been Clint basically collapsed to the floor. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hello! Thank you very much to everyone who is still reading this. I really do appreciate it even if so few people take the time to review. _

_I was bored this afternoon and started reading my story on fanfiction. I discovered that I screwed up posting chapter two after I edited it. SOOO, I fixed that. Hopefully now it makes more sense. I'm really sorry. I still haven't figured out how I managed to do that._

_Enjoy the new chapter._

Chapter Five

It had been an average day. Sarah hummed quietly to herself while she used her pass key to open the door. This room was never very dirty. The agent who lived here took very good care of it. Most days she didn't have to do much, just a little dusting.

That suited her fine. Most of the Avengers were meticulous in their ability to keep their quarters clean. The support staff, however, weren't quite so well trained or disciplined. These easy rooms gave her extra time for those other ones.

As usual, Sarah found the living room to be immaculate. It was almost as if no one had been here. She knew that wasn't true because Agent Barton had just returned from a mission. The maintenance staff wasn't told when the agents left but they were told when they returned, so they could make sure their rooms were clean.

Still humming, Sarah moved to the bathroom because it was the next closest room. She stopped dead in her tracks. There was water all over the floor. A chill started in her stomach. Something wasn't quite right here. Placing her basket with her cleaning supplies on the floor, Sarah pulled a clean cloth out of her bundle and began wiping it up. During the process, she wiped down the shower too. There was a face cloth and a towel to be replaced. Otherwise the room was pretty much immaculate. That too was odd.

No longer humming, Sarah walked back into the living room. From there she could see the kitchen and the balcony beyond. The place was empty. Quickly, she glanced towards the bedroom. The door was open but she couldn't see anything inside. Taking a deep breath, Sarah padded towards the room. Her eyes were big as she came around the corner.

Sarah's heart stopped as she found Agent Barton sprawled on the floor beside his bed. A blanket was half wrapped around him but it wasn't done well enough because she could plainly tell that he was naked. Her first instinct was to use her cell phone to call for help. Stepping closer, though, the pain emanating from him was filled with fear too. That didn't make sense.

Against her better judgement, Sarah moved towards the man. In the shadowed light beside the bed, she could make out the awful bruises on his right side and the burst blisters on his left. Her heart sank. Carefully, she knelt down beside the man's torso.

Agent Barton was lying on his stomach, for which Sarah was grateful. The blanket was partially over his legs and part of his back end. Mostly, though, she could see more of him than she'd ever expected to. Ignoring that, Sarah reached out to touch his right shoulder. Gently, she shook him. At first, Clint's only response was a low moan.

Under Sarah's fingers, though, she found his skin to be too cold, clammy and slick with sweat. Fear quickly turned to alarm. Again the thought that she should be calling for help passed through her mind. Leaving her hand on Clint's shoulder, Sarah lowered her head and closed her eyes. Damn it, she thought. Instead of pulling her cell out of her pocket, she shook the man's shoulder just a little bit harder with one hand while pulling the blanket up over his back with the other.

"Mr. Barton?" It was a female voice, very far away. It wasn't one Clint ever remembered hearing before. He was comfortable in the depths of his mind and knew what waited for him at the surface; pain, exhaustion, humiliation, panic. He wasn't sure he was willing to endure that. Then a hand shook his shoulder.

Rocketing to the surface of his mind, Clint tried to pull away from the touch. The illogical part of his mind was terrified that it was Tasha, back to terrorize him some more. The room was too bright when he first opened his eyes after the darkness behind his closed lids, making it hard for him to see properly. There was sunlight coming from the windows on the other side of the bed but Clint was actually lying in the shadow cast by the bed. He blinked quickly to force his eyes to adjust. Fear and surprise flowed through him when he saw a rather plump woman with dark hair, liberally streaked with white, kneeling beside him.

"What?" Clint croaked. He was so thirsty. When was the last time he'd eaten? He couldn't remember. It was too long ago, he knew that much. The pain was somewhat abated simply because he hadn't been moving. Still, he only felt moderately warmer than he had before passing out.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Barton. I know you're not supposed to see me, that's one of the rules for those of us working maintenance but I couldn't just walk away with you lying here. Are you all right?" the woman asked as she slowly shifted her bulky frame onto her haunches a few feet from Clint. She could feel the pain, humiliation, fear and confusion rolling off the man in waves. It set her teeth on edge. He needed help. She just wasn't sure that she was the one to do that.

The woman was dressed in black clothes, probably a uniform of some sort, Clint couldn't quite make out the details now that she was in the shadow created by his bed. There was a security/ID card hanging around her neck. Stark's logo was on it which gave him some reassurance.

Distantly, Clint had known that there were people in Tony's building that had to clean the rooms and otherwise maintain it. It only made sense since he hadn't had to dust since he moved in here. Clint was not a messy person. He made sure his dishes were washed, his counters wiped, his bathroom clean. It was part of his efforts to keep his world under control. He had been aware, however, that his towels were always clean and that his sheets never seemed to get dirty. It was a lot like living in a hotel. But, he'd never seen anyone pushing a laundry cart or a cleaning cart. There just never seemed to be anyone around that did anything but work for SHIELD.

"Mr. Barton?" the woman asked. Tentatively, she reached out and touched his shoulder again. His skin was so damned cold, sweaty and pale. Sarah had seen the man several times since he moved in. His current state shocked her. That fact that he had been lying naked on his floor with a blanket barely wrapped around him somehow seemed shocking in the extreme. Carefully, she rolled him over onto his back.

"W...who?" Clint managed. The movement had reawakened every injury he had. The pain was excruciating. He wasn't sure if the woman was a mirage. He desperately hoped not. He needed help. Blinking his eyes, he tried to clear them a little more. For some reason he wasn't seeing very clearly. Dimly he noticed that on top of everything else his head was pounding like a son of a bitch.

"I'm Sarah. Just stay here, I'll be right back," the woman said. Gaining her feet, she turned and left the room. Clint hoped desperately that she wasn't calling for help. After all this the last thing he wanted was to get the others involved. He didn't want them dead.

Clint might have dozed, he wasn't sure, but suddenly the woman was back, kneeling beside him, holding a glass of water to his lips. She was bracing his head with the other hand, keeping him from drowning. It tasted like pure honey. Too soon it was empty. Carefully placing Clint's head back on the ground, Sarah sat back on her haunches.

"I'll call Dr. Banner," Sarah declared, having finally come to a decision. She tried to pry herself off the floor again. She had none of Tasha's strength or grace and yet at the moment Clint thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Damn, was he delirious as well?

"No!" Clint said after the words sank in. He tried to roll over, to sit up, to physically stop the woman. He managed to pull his body an inch off the ground before he collapsed again. "No...not him." Talking was almost beyond him. Desperately, he tried to form the words to explain all this to her.

"An ambulance, then?" Sarah asked, looking at the man with concern. Something wasn't right here. If he'd drunk himself into a stupor, which all of the maintenance staff had seen numerous times with Tony Stark, there would have been bottles or at least one bottle and a glass around. She hadn't seen any during her brief inspection.

"No...no one," Clint managed. "Can't."

Standing beside the man, staring down at Clint, Sarah felt fear burning through her again. Barton belonged in a hospital. Even in the dim light beside the bed she could see the bruises on his side and the burns on the other one. What the hell? While the staff never knew the details of any of the missions the Avengers went on they all knew when the various members came back. Mr. Barton hadn't been injured after his last mission and the one yesterday had been 'a cake walk'.

"That doesn't make any sense. You're injured. You need help. There's a doctor in the building. Why shouldn't I call him?" Sarah asked. It was very confusing. She felt like she'd stepped through the rabbit hole and her name was Alice. The emotions sweeping over her from the man only made it harder to think straight.

"No. Others can't know," Clint wheezed. His shivering had returned along with it the damned spasms. He refused to make a sound in front of this woman. Still, his face twisted and his eyes closed as he rode the waves of pain. He heard the woman leave the room. Despair erupted, reducing his ability to breathe even further. She was going to tell them. Tasha was going to kill everyone. Hawkeye would be responsible. Clint didn't know if he was going to be able to live with their blood on his hands. As the pain finally began to ebb, he felt tears rolling down his face out of the corner of his eyes.

"Here." The woman was back. He felt her lift his head and press something between his lips. It was two pills. Opening his eyes, Clint saw that she also had a glass of water. She placed that against his lips to help him chase down the pills. "I don't know what's going on. Maybe someday you'll be able to tell me about it. Right now, though, I need to get you in bed."

The relief that flashed through his system shocked Clint. Had the other members of the team really come to mean so much to him in such a short time? That truly amazed him. Clint wasn't used to depending on others. Still, he watched the woman pull the sheets down on his bed. Then she stepped back over him, slid her arms under his knees and back and picked him up like he was a child. The woman was obviously stronger than he'd ever conceived. Still, she was breathing pretty hard when she stepped back.

"There," Sarah said once he was settled on the fitted sheet. "Now, I'm not promising that I can do this. I've had training as a vet assistant but that was a long time ago. Please don't die on me."

Clint couldn't think of any response to that. Besides, he really didn't have the strength to say anything. The blanket he'd pulled over himself before was still wrapped around his legs and waist. Gently, she extracted it before pulling the blankets up over his right side and his legs and waist. "I'm going to clean these burns. This isn't going to be pleasant."

Clint didn't really care. Now that he was on the mattress he was realizing just how hard the floor had been. His joints were virtually sighing in relief. His ribs and chest weren't quite as sore either. The mattress gave them some support without adding pressure. What little discomfort cleaning his burns would cause was well worth it.

Automatically, Clint's eyes closed as the pain in his body slowly ebbed to an all encompassing ache. The sensation was short lived, however, as Sarah put his towel up against his burned side. That didn't bother him at all. It was the warm, soapy cloth that stung like hell. Sucking breath between clenched teeth, Clint resolutely kept his eyes closed. Someone was taking care of him. That in itself was a very strange sensation for the archer. Still, he was going to enjoy it for the moment. Just as he gave in to oblivion, Clint heard a low humming noise. Then nothing else mattered.

_A/N: Yeah, I know. I've gone Mary Jane. But... I have my reasons. I had Clint so weak and beat up that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to keep up appearances. Tasha wasn't going to help him and the others couldn't so I brought in someone not on the team, who might have an excuse to be there (being a cleaning woman in the building, Clint's cleaning woman even if he didn't know it). This is an effort to drag this out for a while longer. I hope it's not too much. _

_Til next time. _


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Warning: This chapter is rated M for sexual abuse. I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. ;) _

_Thank you to Sinkme and __yolynnjones__ for taking the time to review this. I appreciate it more than you know. As twisted as I get in this story it's still something new to me and I need encouragement to know if I'm doing it right. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!_

_Enjoy!_

Chapter Six

The first thing Clint became aware of was the fact that he was alone. Forcing his eyes open, the member of the Avengers looked around his room. Beyond the windows the sun had gone down but the room wasn't completely black. The lamp beside his bed was on low. That explained why he was able to determine that Sarah was gone.

The next thing Clint became aware of was that he didn't hurt quite as badly as he had before and he wasn't so damned cold. Pulling his blankets down, the archer took in the white bandages covering his burns and the tensor bandage around his ribs. Under the tensor he could feel a cool gel pack. That was why his ribs weren't shouting at him.

He was only mildly surprised to find that his legs were covered with a pair of sweat pants and that he had underwear on underneath. Damn. How did the woman manage to do all of this while he was unconscious? Clint knew he couldn't have been asleep because there was no way he would have stayed that way while Sarah had been doing all of this to him.

Beside the lamp, Clint found two sandwiches on a plate wrapped in cellophane. Also, there was a large glass of water with a bottle of extra strength Tylenol. Beyond that he saw a thermos. Carefully, he reached for it. Picking it up hurt but he had to know. Inside, he found cold orange juice. The woman had been through his fridge. His curiosity satisfied, Clint downed three of the pills and ravenously attacked the plate with the sandwiches.

His stomach full for the first time in days, Clint drank the glass of water and was well into the thermos of juice when his comm buzzed. It too had been left on the night stand beside his bed. Carefully shifting on the bed, Clint scooped it up and keyed it.

"Hey," Stark said. "You ready to try out those weapons?"

Clint knew the man was trying to be subtle. He didn't want to push but he was anxious to see if his improvements had worked. Stark was trying to be less energetic but it still oozed through. Sighing, Clint realized he couldn't put the man off any longer. Stark was going to start to get suspicious. Besides, he felt better than he had since this whole thing started, besides the pain.

"I'll be at the range in half an hour," Clint said. He honestly didn't know what time it was but he knew it was probably going to take him that long just to get dressed. Pulling the bow string wasn't going to be fun but he felt like he was going to be able to do it.

"Perfect. I'll meet you there," Tony said. He broke the connection. Sighing, Clint downed the rest of the orange juice and then prepared to drag himself out of the bed. It actually was easier than he thought it might be. Now that he was off the floor and warmer, his muscles were more inclined to be cooperative.

OOOOO

Clint reached the range within twenty minutes. He was surprised. Walking through the hallways, he managed to appear normal. The wrap around his ribs kept them from reacting to every little jolt. The bandages on his burns kept them from cracking and oozing. He felt almost back to his old self as he entered the large room.

"Glad you could make it," Tony said. He was standing at the range, the bow and arrows propped up in front of him. As Hawkeye covered the distance between them, Tony watched the blond archer. But, he didn't notice anything untoward.

"Sorry it took me so long," Clint responded. He still didn't know what time it was but knowing Tony it could be the middle of the night. He didn't really care so long as the man stopped badgering him.

"No problem," Tony said as he stepped back out of the archer's way. Reverently, Clint picked up one of the arrows. They were about the same weight as the ones he was used to using. The tips, however, were vastly different. "Try shooting them."

Picking up the bow, Clint notched the arrow, pulled the string back and took a deep breath. It hurt a lot but still he was able to aim and release, hitting the target perfectly.

"Once these things are armed they'll have the damaging power of five grenades with much better aiming power," Tony explained as he held one of the arrows out to Clint, demonstrating how to arm it.

"Perfect," Clint responded. He could immediately see several cases where these arrows would be a definite benefit. They were perfectly weighted, just as they probably had been before. "Thanks."

"Any time," Tony said as he headed down the range to pull the arrow out. He only had so many made at the moment, he didn't want to waste any of them. Reluctantly, Clint handed over the bow so Tony could pack that as well. The bow was phenomenal. While it still made his side scream in pain, he knew that it took less strength to pull and that it too helped to improve accuracy. It was going to be great for particularly long distances.

Nodding at the billionaire, Clint turned to leave the room. The archer's side spasmed when he turned, trying to bring him up short. Gritting his teeth, Clint acted like nothing had happened. By the time he reached the elevator, though, sweat had broken out over his skin again. At least that was done. Clint was surprised by the relief that caused. Leaning against the railing in the elevator, he began to relax, just a little.

OOOOO

The next two days were relatively uneventful for the archer. Clint kept his burns clean with fresh bandages and an antibiotic ointment Sarah had left for him. He took a shower every day before he did that, of course. There was no sign of Tasha, for which he was grateful. He even managed to get back to working out. His one concession was that he never took his shirt off. The burns and bruises would have caused alarm.

Clint's work outs were somewhat moderated compared to what he usually did but not that anyone watching would have noticed. The second day he even worked out at the same time as Rogers. The two men talked about general stuff companionably. It felt pretty good to Clint. Steve didn't talk just to hear himself speak, unlike Stark. He appreciated that a great deal.

After that first time Clint didn't see Sarah again. He knew she was around, though, because around meal times he'd find sandwiches, wrapped in plastic or other food waiting for him in his kitchen. He also found juices of various kinds and bottled water. The simple act of kindness astonished him. The thought of tracking the woman down had played through his mind several times but he didn't want to set her on Tasha's radar.

Through the grape vine, Clint had found out that Black Widow was out on a mission. One part of him hated that she had gone out without him for back up. The largest part of him was vastly relieved that she was gone. That brought about other feelings including guilt. The woman was his partner. They'd laid their lives down for each other. Maybe if he approached the others while she was gone they would be able to subdue her before she killed anyone. Yeah, Clint knew that wasn't going to happen.

Entering his quarters after working out with Steve, Clint was in a good mood. He'd been happy to find that he was really beginning to feel like his old self. The pain was still there, ever present it seemed, but it was at a level where he could manage it with the Tylenol and his own ability to ignore it. As he closed his door behind him Clint was instantly aware that he wasn't alone.

"Hello," Tasha said from his couch. Fear spiked through Clint. Casually, he looked at the woman that was his partner. She still looked like the woman he'd saved and who had saved him multiple times since they joined SHIELD. But, that evil glint was back in her eyes.

Clint dropped his work out bag on the floor and carefully padded over to stand in front of the woman. His mask was back in place. He wasn't going to give her any kind of satisfaction by revealing just how much her presence unnerved him. "How was the mission?" he asked. It was the only thing that came to mind.

"A complete success," Tasha responded, a broad smile on her beautiful face. "I bought a new toy while I was there. Strip."

Clint's stomach dropped at the last word. He was standing in his living room, not getting ready to take a shower, which he probably should be. There was no reason for him to remove his clothes. Except Tasha knew how much it disturbed him to be naked around her. Apparently that was enough. His stomach tightening in fear, Clint stared at her for a moment, trying to determine how serious she was.

"You heard me," Tasha stated as she shifted slightly forward in the chair. She was still dressed in her uniform. It gave her a more menacing appearance. Swallowing heavily, Clint caught hold of the hem of his sweat shirt and slowly pulled it off over his head.

Feeling his skin crawl under his partner's scrutiny, Clint dropped his sweat shirt to the floor. The predatory expression was back in Tasha's eyes as he pulled his t-shirt up and over too, to join his other garment.

"Who did that?" Tasha demanded as she took in the bandages, both white and tensor. Their presence pissed her off. They were obscuring the masterpiece she'd made of the man's body.

"I did," Clint said. He was telling the truth. He'd had to remove the ones Sarah had put on him the second day when he took a shower. That was enough truth for him to keep Tasha from becoming suspicious. "I was developing an infection."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," Tasha said. "Take them off."

Sighing quietly, Clint carefully pulled off the strips of tape holding the bandages over his burns in place. The white bandages joined his shirts on the floor. They were followed shortly by the tensor bandage. Instantly he felt the creaking of his ribs return. Next came off his sweat pants. That was the easy part. He knew he had shorts on underneath. Reaching these, he paused again, not wanting to take them off.

"I'm getting bored," Tasha grated from the couch. "You won't like me when I get bored."

Gritting his teeth, Clint removed his shorts and the underwear underneath. Fighting would only make matters worse. Then he was standing there naked in front of his partner feeling like he was a teenager again.

"I forgot just how beautiful you are," Tasha said as she stood up. Clint felt like a piece of meat while the woman circled him. It took almost everything the blond man had to not pull away from her. On the second time around, Natasha was behind him. Clint felt his skin trying to crawl off his body and go hide in the corner somewhere.

Behind the archer he heard a crackling sound. Instantly he knew what it was but he was too late. Electricity raced through his body as Tasha pressed a taser against the right side of his back, right by the bruise for his ribs. Confused, his muscles contracted as the electricity passed through them and around them. Before Clint was aware that he was falling, he found himself lying sprawled on the ground.

Tasha pressed the tines of the device against Clint's back again, keying the voltage. Clint's back arched to the point he thought his spine might break. With a third charge, Clint's muscles didn't know whether to contract or expand so they did both sending searing pain through every inch of his body. A stifled scream burst through tightly drawn lips.

With a dark chuckle, Tasha pulled the taser away from Clint's slick skin. Panting like a bellows, Clint felt his legs and arms collapse to the floor as his muscles continued to twitch convulsively while the electricity within them abated.

"This is fun," Tasha purred. She was kneeling beside Clint, who had wound up on his stomach, his arms at an angle on either side of his body and his legs slightly bent. His smooth skin was slick was sweat. Where she'd pressed the taser against it there were twin dark marks from the skin burning.

Chuckling again, Tasha moved a little further down Clint's body. It was just too damned convenient. While the archer was still incapacitated, Tasha caught hold of his right leg and moved it to the right, exposing certain other parts of his anatomy. Still chuckling, she jabbed the taser against his right testicle.

The scream that erupted from Clint was no longer stifled. The man's entire body vibrated as the taser crackled. Suddenly worried about someone hearing, Tasha pulled the device away and watched with amusement as Clint continued to writhe on the floor. The scream had turned to a high pitched keening wail until the electricity stopped coursing through Clint's body. He was left heaving on the floor as the sandwiches Sarah had left him came back up.

"What a mess," Tasha said as she sat back. That was fun but too damned loud. Tony had created a wonderful building but she wasn't sure how sound proof the rooms really were. While Clint continued to try to recover on the floor, Tasha moved over to his pile of clothes. The man's underwear in her hand, she headed back to him.

After nearly two minutes of vomiting and eight of dry heaving once Clint's stomach was empty, Tasha pulled him away from the mess and then shoved his underwear in his mouth. She wrapped the tensor bandage around it to keep it in place.

Satisfied, Tasha moved over to Clint's left side. No longer caring about appearing weak, Clint tried to scramble away only to find that his body wasn't completely under his control. He was reduced to making weak sounds into the gag and moving with a complete lack of coordination as the woman rolled him over onto his back.

More bile rose as Clint saw her shift down his left side. He knew what she was going to do but he was powerless to stop her. He drew a hissing breath through his nose as he felt the tines press up against his left testicle. The pain was breathtakingly horrible. Screaming into the gag, Clint's mind did the only thing it could, it shut down.

"Wimp," Tasha said as she saw Clint's blue eyes slam shut as he lost consciousness. "I knew you'd enjoy my new toy."

As she saw the delicate skin begin to darken in response to the voltage, Tasha pulled the taser away, deactivating it. She pulled the gag out of his mouth.

"Let's see you pretend this didn't happen," Natasha murmured as she stood up. As much fun as she was having torturing the man she was under a deadline. Cave was expecting her to have killed the Avengers within three days. Gordon had special plans for Clint. If the blond archer didn't start giving off more signs of his discomfort, the others would never figure it out. If they didn't, she wouldn't have an excuse to kill them.

With one last glance at the blond man lying naked and unconscious on the floor of his living room, Tasha chuckled again. And she had to get back to the rest of her plan. Still smiling, Tasha left the apartment.

OOOOO

It was the end of her day. Sarah really wanted to just go home. She was exhausted beyond words. Still, she couldn't get a nagging feeling out of her head. It wasn't her usual time but she had to check on Agent Barton. She just hoped that he was okay and not at home. What she was about to do went completely against protocol.

Outside the man's door, Sarah looked both ways before she used her access card to unlock the door. Quickly, she slipped inside. She'd been watching the man, seeing how much better he appeared to be. It had made her proud that she'd been able to help even in some small way. And yet, she had an overwhelming need to make sure he was still all right.

Turning around, Sarah found that the room was dark. That could be a good thing or a bad one. With her right arm she reached over and turned the overhead light in the living room on. A small gasp escaped from her as she took in Agent Barton, sprawled naked on the ground. Not again.

"Agent Barton?" Sarah called out quietly as she stepped towards him. She pulled her jacket off and quickly threw it over the man's genitals. She'd all ready seen more than enough of him. There was no response. That didn't make sense. Clint had been doing so much better over the last two days. Kneeling down beside him, Sarah checked his burns to see if he had a raging infection. That could explain his lack of consciousness. They were healing nicely as were the bruises on his chest and side.

Reluctantly, Sarah caught hold of her jacket and pulled it off him. It took her nearly two minutes to build up the nerve but finally, she glanced down at him. Nausea and rage burned through her upon finding the twin burn marks. Despite her limited exposure to the device, even she knew what had caused them. All ready the testicle was swelling as fluid ran to the area. It was this swelling that told her that his other testicle had to have been damaged in a similar way even though she couldn't see the actual point of contact.

"Son of a bitch," Sarah swore. Who the hell was doing this to him? Not knowing what else to do, the cleaning woman went into Clint's kitchen, opened the freezer, dumped some ice into a towel and came back to the still form on the ground. Tentatively, she placed the cold compress against his genitals. What else could she do?

She looked around the room again, taking in the vomit just a foot away from his face, his pale, slick skin and the low moans that seemed to come out with every breath. He was a strong man, but she was nearly old enough to be his mother. Maternal instincts she hadn't even known she had rocketed to the surface of her mind.

Without thinking, Sarah drew Clint over to the couch and she sat down with her back braced against the piece of furniture. Then she did the only thing that felt natural. She pulled Clint towards her, making sure the compress stayed where she'd put it.

By the time Sarah was done, Hawkeye was sitting in her lap, his head propped up on her shoulder and a blanket she'd found on the couch wrapped around him. It was the best she could do. Closing her eyes, Sarah rested the back of her head against the seat of the couch and tried desperately to not fall asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello! I hope people are still interested in this story after what I did to Clint in the last chapter. Unfortunately, I have only worse things planned for him in the very near future. _

_This chapter is short but I wanted to get something out before I go away for the weekend. I will be writing but I don't think I'll be able to upload. I will, however, but able to check my email and would greatly appreciate any reviews people are willing to throw my way. (Hint hint) I'm extremely grateful to __yolynnjones for yet again being awesome and taking the time to review. I'm really nervous about this story and how far I'm going to take it. Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!_

_Take care and enjoy!_

Chapter Seven

Time passed. Sarah knew she couldn't spend the whole night holding Clint. It wasn't going to do him or her any good. All ready, Sarah's back was aching from being pressed up against the couch. Sighing, the plump woman carefully extracted her body out from underneath the young archer. Not wanting to leave him sprawled on the floor Sarah picked him up and laid him on his right side on the couch. Lucky for her she was strong from working maintenance; lucky for him he wasn't overly heavy.

Sarah made sure that he was lying on his right side, on the bruises rather than the burns. Somehow that seemed like the less of the two evils. Heading to the bathroom, she found the supplies she needed. It seemed like a broken record but she was going to have to patch him up again. She pulled the blanket down far enough for her to get at his side but no lower. She wasn't quite ready for that yet.

The first thing she tackled were the burns on Clint's left side. They were healing well but still should be covered to help prevent infection. Sarah cleaned them carefully, put antibiotic ointment on them and then placed the bandages on them. Not ready to face what had been done to the man's groin, Sarah then turned her attention to cleaning up the vomit that was still on his face.

Finally, she couldn`t postpone it any longer. Sarah pulled the blanket the rest of the way down and removed the compress. While the swelling seemed to have reduced, the damage looked even worse than she remembered. The rage returned. Who the hell was doing this?

Whoever was tormenting Clint had chosen one of the ways that would hurt him most without actually causing a lot of damage. This was about pain, fear, humiliation and shame, not about ending the man's life. Whoever was doing this was more interested in revenge. Given the type of people the Avengers worked against, that was a very long list.

Sarah paused, taking a deep breath to calm down. She was about to touch a part of Clint's anatomy that she'd never wanted to see much less handle. Somehow, she didn't think he'd appreciate her being rough. Taking a few more deep breaths, Sarah brought the soapy wash cloth up and rubbed gently at the burn mark on Clint's testicle.

The low moans that her earlier ministrations had caused quickly changed to much louder ones. It set Sarah's nerves on edge. She hated to cause him this much pain, even while he was unconscious. She finished as quickly as she could and then covered the twin black marks with antibiotic ointment. Gritting her teeth, Sarah moved Clint's right leg just enough that she was able to find the points of contact on his other testicle. She repeated the process.

Under her fingers, Sarah could feel the warm, delicate skin contract. She felt so dirty doing this while Clint was unaware. If he'd been awake it would have still been incredibly embarrassing for both of them but at least he would have given her permission. Then she wouldn't feel quite so dirty. Clint's moan turned to a stifled scream as she put the ointment on the burns.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Sarah said as she quickly covered Clint up with the blanket. She absolutely hated this. If the person who'd done this to the archer was standing in front of her at the moment she would probably kill him or her. Well, at least hurt them very badly or yell at them.

"Aaaahh," Clint groaned as he shifted positions on the couch. Slowly his blue eyes flickered open and came to rest on Sarah's concerned face. She was kneeling on the floor beside the couch.

"I'm sorry!" Sarah breathed as she looked into his pain pinched face. At the moment she would give anything to trade places with him. The world needed Hawkeye. She wasn't so sure it needed her. "I found you lying on the floor again. I couldn't leave you there."

Confusion reigned over Clint's mind as he tried to remember what had happened this time. Twinges of pain from his groin reminded him pretty quickly. Instantly he was deeply ashamed that this woman had been the one to find him again. Unable to face her, Clint averted his eyes while blood rushed to his cheeks. Damn it all anyway. Damn Tasha too.

"Who is doing this to you?" Sarah asked when the blond man didn't respond to her. At first she was worried that he was relapsing into unconsciousness. Then she saw him glance up at her for a split second before becoming fascinated with the blanket that covered him. "Please, tell me."

"I can't," Clint managed. The shame and humiliation were nearly overpowering. The fact that Sarah had been witness to it again only made things worse. He wasn't willing to draw her any further into his hell.

"Why are they doing this?" Sarah pressed. She began to pack up all the things she'd used. It kept her hands busy when all she wanted to do was shake the answers out of the man.

"Because they can," Clint responded. It was as good an answer as any. He desperately wanted to fall back asleep so that this could all go away. He didn't have the strength to deal with it any more.

"Why?" Sarah demanded. She was becoming angry at the man. It was obvious that he was going through hell she'd seen the results of it firsthand. But, that gave him no excuse to give up. He was a super hero. He wasn't allowed to give up. That was what made him super, right?

Sarah wasn't going to leave it alone. Somehow that didn't surprise Clint. Somehow it was what he expected from the woman. Sighing from the depths of his soul, Clint drew his eyes up until they met her brown ones. All he found there was worry and compassion. "It's complicated," Clint finally said.

"You're a super hero. Of course it's complicated," Sarah responded, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Clint said.

"Now that's something I can fix," Sarah stated. Picking up her supplies, she headed to the bathroom first before making her way to the kitchen.

OOOOO

The meal was simple. That was the only way Sarah cooked. In actual fact she hated to cook. Anything. The only reason she was doing it now was because Clint couldn't. Just as Clint finished the soup and sandwiches she'd made for him, his comm chirped demanding attention.

"Clint. Get your ass down here. We're having a movie night, Natasha's idea," Tony Stark rambled. Sarah had been watching the blond man while Stark had been speaking. She noticed how Clint flinched at the name of his partner. Well, that mystery was solved. But it created a whole other set of questions.

"Fine," Clint responded before he broke the link. Weariness threatened to overcome him. Of course Tasha suggested they have a movie night. It was one more way to test him, to see if he could keep up appearances in front of the others. Lying down he was okay with the burns on his groin. Sitting up or even standing and walking were probably going to be something else entirely.

"Why is she doing this to you?" Sarah asked. She had just finished cleaning up the vomit on his floor. Clint had tried to convince her to leave it, that he'd clean it up but she'd ignored him.

"It's not her. It's someone else," Clint said. Pulling the blanket up around him a little tighter, he struggled to sit up. He needed to go to the bathroom, for obvious reasons and to wash up. He wasn't going to show up in Tony Stark's movie theatre smelling like vomit and sweat.

Wordlessly, Sarah moved away from the floor and caught hold of Clint's right arm. Gently she helped to pull the man to his feet. Almost immediately Clint's knees tried to give out on him. Just as Sarah reached to catch him, Clint pulled himself back up and stumbled towards the bathroom.

By the time he was done, Clint was sweaty as hell again. It had almost been for nothing. For a few minutes there, though, he'd felt clean. Opening the door, Clint braced his body up with his hands on the door jams. Sarah was sitting on the couch, watching him expectantly. For a brief moment Hawkeye considered acting like he was fine, that he could get his overtaxed body to the bedroom under his own steam and get dressed. One look at the woman's face, though, his resolve evaporated.

Clint was trying to figure out how to ask for help when Sarah stood up and came over to him. Wordlessly, she caught hold of his left arm and pulled it over her shoulders. Together, they paced through the living room and into the bedroom. Sarah deposited Clint on the bed while she searched through his drawers for a clean pair of sweat pants and a sweat shirt. The building was always kept at the same temperature and it certainly wasn't cold but she figured the loose clothing would be better to hide the bandages and swellings.

"Are these okay?" Sarah asked as she held them out for Clint's inspection. Nodding his head in the affirmative, Clint tried to get his butt off the bed so he could pull his blanket out from under him. That didn't work so well. Ignoring the man's struggles, Sarah moved over to him, pulled the sweat shirt over his head and then helped him with his arms. She didn't even bother to ask as she helped him stand up and get the sweats on over his shaking legs.

"How are you going to get down there?" Sarah asked. Clint was all ready so weak, she couldn't imagine him making it very far down the hallway. Besides, in their short excursion from the bathroom she'd noticed how bow legged he was walking. As much as she understood the cause, it was going to wear him out even faster.

"I don't know," Clint answered honestly. He'd pretty much collapsed back onto the bed as soon as Sarah had pulled the sweats up over his hips. At this point he had no modesty around the woman. Whatever he had she'd all ready seen and from the ointment he'd found on his groin, touched him. Luckily the loose sweats didn't seem to aggravate his injuries, for that he was thankful.

"I have to go downstairs to head home. I can get you to the elevator," Sarah suggested. She wanted to keep the man in his quarters but there were things going on here beyond her knowledge. She had to trust that Clint knew what he was doing.

"That would be great, thanks," Clint responded. He was going to make it to the elevator. Beyond that Clint was going to have to pull up what little reserve strength he had to get through the rest of the evening. Helping Clint to his feet, Sarah led him towards the door. Once they got it open, she switched from basically carrying him to simply supporting his arm. The trek down the hallway to the elevator was a slow one. Clint was having trouble walking thanks to the burns Tasha had given him. By the time they reached it and Sarah pushed the button, Clint was leaning heavily on her, breathing like a locomotive and sweating badly.

"You should be going to bed, not heading out to watch a movie," Sarah hissed as they waited.

"I know," Clint grated. He'd through the burns and the ribs had hurt. They were nothing compared to the agony coming from his groin. The elevator arrived and the duo stepped inside, Clint bracing himself in the corner.

"Up or down?" Sarah asked. She knew the tower pretty well but there were so many rooms that she didn't know them all.

"Up," Clint responded. "Thirtieth floor."

With great trepidation, Sarah pushed the appropriate button as well as the one for the underground parking. As much as she hated to leave Clint, she needed to get home before anyone noticed that she was still here.

On the thirtieth floor the elevator door opened. Clenching his teeth, Clint pushed himself away from the corner and stepped into the hallway. With one last furtive glance at Sarah, he made his way towards the theatre, trying his best to walk normally. Swallowing bile, Sarah watched the elevator doors slide shut. Then she was being lowered towards the garage and home.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Hello. I'm back from my trip. I had a lot of fun and spent quite a bit of time writing this story. In fact I've finished it. But, I don't want to post it all at the same time. Besides, I wrote it long hand and need time to enter it into the computer. _

_I know that some readers are a little squeamish about the content. Well, unfortunately, it gets worse in this chapter. Sorry. Couldn't help myself. (evil cackle). So, I'm going to put a message in the spot where you might want to stop reading. Because, yeah, sexual abuse is ahead. _

_Enjoy!_

_P.S. Thank you to my faithful three reviews. I appreciate your encouragement more than I can possibly express. Thank you!_

Chapter Eight

His mask back in place, Clint stepped into the room Stark had set up as an intimate movie theatre. It was more like luxurious couches, recliners, a massive screen and incredible sound system. The movie had started. It was some kind of adventure flick. As casually as Clint could manage, he made his way towards the nearest available chair. He ignored Tasha's gaze as she watched him.

"Good thing you're not this late during missions," Tony said, a twisted smile on his face. He was all ready engrossed in the movie and hadn't paid Clint much attention. For his part Steve was too fascinated by what was on the screen to notice anything else. How the hell did they do that?

Across the seating area from Clint, Bruce threw a glance at the man as he too was engrossed in the movie. Bruce had spent most of the last week in his lab, trying to figure out how to control 'the other guy' better. As a result, he really hadn't seen any of the other team members much. When he glanced at Clint he was shocked by what he saw.

The archer was pale as death. There were lines around his eyes and mouth that indicated to the doctor that he was in pain. Add to that the dilation of his pupils and the sweat on his upper lip and rolling down the sides of his face and Bruce knew there was something very wrong. Clint happened to catch the scientist's look. He'd immediately noticed the extreme concern on Bruce's face as the man started to push himself up off his chair. Terrified, Clint sent the man a harsh look that stopped him in his tracks.

As subtly as he dared, Clint shook his head at Bruce, indicating to him to drop it. Casually, Clint lifted his right leg up over the arm of the chair he was sitting on. It relieved some of the pressure on his groin and gave him a more relaxed attitude. He glanced over at Tasha, hoping desperately that she'd missed the exchange between Bruce and himself. From the way she was staring at the screen he had hope she hadn't.

The turmoil that Bruce's reaction had created in Hawkeye kept him from actually paying attention to the movie. Well, that and the burning embers in his groin. He had a hard time sitting still for more than a few minutes, even with his leg up. Unfortunately for him, after two hours the damned thing wasn't over yet. Who made movies that long anymore?

Finally, he couldn't stand it. The others seemed to be enjoying the action on screen but Clint couldn't sit any longer. "Well," he said as he gained his feet as easily as he could. "I'm headed for bed."

Without waiting to see anyone's response, Clint made his way toward the door. The longer he moved towards it, though, the further away it seemed to get. Finally, he reached it and managed to pull it open without collapsing outright.

The sounds of the movie died abruptly as soon as the door closed. Exhausted and in pain, Clint slumped against the wall beside the door. He had to build up strength to make it the rest of the way home. Bracing his hands against his bent knees, the blond archer let his head hang as he panted. This wasn't going to end well. Clint knew that all ready. The way Tasha had studiously ignored him back in the theatre sent icicles of fear through his veins.

The door handle turned. Clint heard it in time to force his tortured body into an upright position. He was only mildly surprised to see Bruce come out. The doctor noticed Clint immediately. Quickly, he shut the door behind him and turned to face the blond man.

"Okay," Bruce said his voice low. "What's going on?"

For a split second the words were on the tip of Clint's tongue. He wanted to tell the man so desperately. Then he swallowed them. "Nothing. I'm coming down with a cold or something," Clint responded, flashing the doctor a crooked smile. "I'm fine. I just need some rest."

Bruce looked Clint in the eye. He KNEW something was up but the assassin was covering it up. He thought about challenging the man. Then he remembered the brief flash of sheer panic in Clint's eyes. Against his better judgement, Bruce decided to drop it.

"Well, be sure to drink plenty of liquids," he said. It was lame as hell but it was all that came to mind.

"I'll do that," Clint said as relief flowed. Pushing his tired body off the wall, he nodded at the doctor before heading off towards the elevator. He was more than ready for this day to be over.

While his stomach sank, Banner watched the archer as he padded down the hallway. He could tell that Clint was walking through sheer force of will. There was something causing him to hitch in his movements ever so slightly. Bruce decided it was probably injured ribs. Also, Clint had a problem below his waist but Bruce couldn't quite pin that one down. Just as he had finally decided to go with his gut and stop the man the door opened and Natasha exited. She stopped, looking at the doctor with interest.

"Something wrong, doc?" she asked, her face full of innocent curiosity.

"Ah," Bruce hedged. Tasha was Clint's partner. She would know if the man was injured and yet she seemed completely unconcerned. That told him that either he was imagining things, not likely, or Clint was keeping it from her too. He decided to honour the man's wishes. "No, I was just heading back to the lab."

"It's late, Bruce. Shouldn't you be headed for bed?" Tasha asked. She knew the doctor was suspicious but apparently he still had no real idea of what was going on. Not wanting to deal with the hulk just yet, Tasha chose to leave the man alone. For now.

"I know. I want to check on a couple of experiments before I turn in," Bruce responded. "Good night."

"Good night, doc."

OOOOO

For the first time in what felt like forever, Clint slept in his bed. He'd practically OD'd on extra strength Tylenol and used a compress on his genitals to manage it but he still spent the entire night within its warm, comfy confines. He celebrated the fact by sleeping as long as his body would let him.

Groaning softly, Clint slowly pulled his aching body off the mattress and made his way to the kitchen. He was starving. Sarah's sandwiches were wonderful but he was desperate for a real meal. Standing was uncomfortable so he downed more Tylenol before ransacking his fridge and cupboards to see what the options were. Not much. Sighing, Clint settled on a mushroom and cheese omelette. At least he had all the ingredients for that and it would be hot and fast.

By the time it was cooked, Clint was more than ready to sit and eat it. He barely waited long enough for it to cool so it wouldn't burn his mouth. It tasted so damned good. Once the plate was empty, Clint quickly washed the dishes and headed towards the bathroom. He needed a shower, no matter how uncomfortable it might turn out to be.

It took Clint longer than it usually did but eventually he emerged from the bathroom feeling relatively human again. He dressed in a clean sweat suit and spent the rest of the day puttering around his quarters.

Sarah appeared briefly to check on Clint mid way through the afternoon. Satisfied he was feeling better since she walked in on him doing chin ups in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Sarah didn't stay long. She was running behind on her other work and needed the time to catch up.

Late on that night, Clint fell asleep in front of the TV. Around 3 am he woke up, turned the TV off and stumbled to the bedroom.

OOOOO _**Ok. If you're squeamish. Stop right about now. Bad things are about to happen**__._

Clint came awake suddenly. Even while asleep he'd heard something that didn't belong in his room. Opening his eyes, he realized his face was in his pillows. His mind still muddled with sleep, he was having trouble processing. Clint tried to push himself off the bed and turn around to find out he couldn't. He was lying on his stomach, not a position he would have chosen for himself, spread eagle. Pulling on his arms and legs Clint realized that they were secured to the legs of the bed with handcuffs.

Fear boiled within Clint's stomach and mind. He was naked. Behind him, while he struggled mindlessly against his restraints, Clint heard Tasha giggle.

"You're losing your edge, Clint. There was a time I wouldn't have made it through your front door much less strip and hog tie you," she chuckled. To emphasize the point, she slapped the blond man on the ass, hard.

Several responses shot through Clint's mind but they all died on his lips. Instead, he tried to calm his mind and breathing and ignore the burning embers in his groin. None the less, he continued to pull on the handcuffs.

"Well, I've run out of time," Tasha said as she climbed onto the bed beside him. "I have to resort to more extreme measures."

Clint turned his head away from her. He didn't want to look at her. Mindlessly he continued to struggle against the restraints. He didn't want Tasha to be doing these things to him. "Tasha, please," Clint pleaded. He hated that he sounded so young and scared. How the hell had it come to this?

"Ah, that's so sweet," Tasha purred. Gracefully she climbed over Clint's legs and came to sit between them. "You're begging for it. Well, I didn't know you swung this way but I'm more than willing to oblige."

Fear turned to terror. Then Clint felt Tasha's hands on his buttocks, spreading them apart. No, no, no, no, NO! Stormed through Clint's mind as he struggles increased dramatically. He'd all ready ripped the skin on his wrists and ankles open. The wounds were bleeding freely. He didn't notice.

Something cold and hard was pressed against Clint's rectum. He wanted to scream, to beg, to plead but he knew it would fall on deaf ears and he couldn't stand the sound of Tasha's laugh as she forced the object into his body. A screamed ripped through him as Tasha continued to force the object inside him. It felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. The scream was replaced by another as Tasha gave a final thrust.

"How's that feel?" Tasha asked. She'd leaned over his back and was whispering in his ear. Dimly, Clint became aware that she too was naked. He also was vaguely aware that something was pressing against the skin of his rectum. Whatever she'd pushed into him, she'd pushed all the way.

Clint refused to answer as he panted into his pillows. All his other injures were forgotten. He still pulled against the restraints but his efforts were rapidly weakening.

"You're no fun at all," Tasha breathed. Clint felt her shift above him and then he felt her warm fingers sliding over his scrotum. "How about this?"

Despite the swelling, Tasha had both testicles in her hand and began to squeeze. She was gentle at first and then increased the pressure. Clint's struggling renewed in strength as he screamed into the pillows. It felt like she was trying to burst his damaged testicles like balloons.

"Well, at least that got a reaction," Tasha purred. Clint's body was as stiff as a board as he rode the waves of agony she was creating. There was no way he was going to be able to pretend he was okay after this. The assassin's ability to cover the damage so far had surprised Tasha, especially after the taser. At first she thought he had to have help. It was the only plausible explanation. Watching the moving with everyone last night had confirmed that none of the other Avengers knew. Still, there had to be someone.

"Who's helping you?" Tasha asked as she released her grip. Clint didn't respond as he sobbed into the pillows, trying to get a hold of himself. His body collapsed back onto the bed.

"Who, damn it?" Tasha demanded. She slid her leg up between Clint's legs, her knee pressed against the metal dildo she'd used on him. When Clint didn't answer, she forced her knee upward. Clint's body tightened again as another scream ripped through him. His hands were fists, his finger nails digging into his palms, as the new pain ravaged his system.

Realizing that Clint was on the verge of passing out, Tasha pulled her leg back. Catching hold of the base of the device, she withdrew it three inches but not all the way. She still had plans for that.

"Who has been helping you?" Tasha said. She'd waited a few minutes for Clint to recover. While she'd waited, she'd drawn her finger through the beads of sweat that covered the skin on his back, drawing pictures.

All Clint managed was a low grunt. Even if he'd been able to speak he wouldn't. No matter what Tasha did to him there was no way he was going to tell her about Sarah. She was a civilian, an innocent.

"I'm getting bored," Tasha stated. Suddenly she shifted around between Clint's legs. He breathed a small sigh of relief that was replaced by another wave of terror as he felt Tasha reach underneath him to grasp his member. "No," the word slipped out before he was conscious of it.

"Oh, yes," Tasha contradicted. She started out trying to be seductive, trying to arouse Clint. The archer wasn't feeling cooperative, however. She tried a more direct, violent approach. Apart from an occasional grunt or groan there was no response.

Frustrated, Tasha climbed off the bed for a moment. Clint took the time to recover. When this had started, he'd found his partner's touch very arousing. Now, it turned his stomach to stone. He kept his head turned away from her as he felt Tasha climb back onto the bed.

"Let's try this. I've heard it works on bulls," Tasha said from somewhere above and behind him. Clint forced his face into the pillow to scream as she forced the dildo as far into him as she could. Then, through the roaring of blood in his ears, Clint heard an all too familiar crackle.

In an instant Clint's world exploded as Tasha applied the taser to the metal dildo. The electricity crackled through the metal and then expanded into his body, ravaging the nerve endings as it passed. In an instant Clint was erect as the rest of his body twitched, strained and tightened to the point of breaking. Helplessly, Clint screamed and screamed into his pillows.


	9. Chapter 9

_Here's the next chapter. I haven't finished translating this onto my computer. But I wanted to get the next chapter out fast since it's done. Again, I will put a message in when the sexual abuse is going to happen. _

_Enjoy. _

Chapter Nine

It was early but Sarah had been on her way to check on Clint. Now that she knew the danger was in the building with him, she couldn't get the archer off her mind. Rounding the corner of the hallway leading to Clint's quarters, she stopped dead in her tracks. Tasha had Clint's door open and was slipping inside. Instinctively, Sarah took a step back to let the corner hide her from view. Sinking against the wall, Sarah's thoughts raged while she tried to come up with a plan. She knew Black Widow was too dangerous for her to take on alone, even if she did catch her by surprise.

"Shit," Sarah swore as she raced down the hallway. She didn't even bother with the elevator. Instead, she sprinted down the stairs, two at a time. A few times she lost her footing and careened off the walls of the landings but it didn't stop her.

Crashing through the door on the floor where Sarah knew the labs were, she raced through the hallways, trying to find the one she needed. By the time she found it and burst through the door, she was panting so hard she couldn't speak.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Dr. Bruce Banner asked the crazed maintenance woman. She'd just run into his lab and came to a screeching halt three feet away from him. The woman held up a hand to stop him as she bent forward and tried to catch her breath. The longer it took, the more she began to panic and the less she was able to breathe.

"Agent...Barton," Sarah panted. Sweat was running down the sides of her face in streams. In her haste to reach help she hadn't taken the time to plan ahead.

"Clint?" Bruce asked as he took a step forward. The niggling doubt that had been gnawing at the back of the doctor's mind since the movie came stampeding to the forefront. "What's going on?"

Sarah paused long enough to take two deep, heaving breaths before she answered. "Black Widow has been hurting him. I saw her go into his room five minutes ago."

"What?" Bruce demanded. That didn't make any sense at all. Tasha and Clint were partners. There was no logical reason for her to hurt her fellow assassin. "That makes no sense at all."

"I know. I found him passed out on the floor beside his bed a few days ago. He had bruises over three ribs, burns on his left side and was suffering from hypothermia. I wanted to go for help but he wouldn't let me," Sarah said. The words were coming out in a rush. "Then two days ago I found him passed out again on the floor of the living room. Someone took a taser to his scrotum."

Sarah didn't want to tell anyone that but she also wanted Dr. Banner to take her concerns seriously. The wide eyed shock on the doctor's face told her she'd been successful.

"How do you know it was Black Widow?" Bruce managed as he tried to take in the words this woman was spewing at him.

"Agent Barton wouldn't tell me who'd done it. But I saw how he reacted when I said her name." Sarah said. She'd caught her breath and was standing in front of the doctor, basically vibrating. She knew something bad was happening to Clint. It was killing her to stand here and convince this man that they needed to go.

"That's a little thin," Bruce said. He didn't want to believe her. He knew Tasha. He didn't know this woman. Come to think about it he didn't even know her name.

"I know!" Sarah virtually shouted at the man. Why was he being so damned dense? "Please! I swear! Agent Barton is in trouble and you're going to have to go through her to get to him!"

Bruce became very still. This woman was telling him the most fantastical story he'd ever heard but she was so damned sincere. Abruptly, Bruce's mind shifted gears. He turned away from Sarah and started pulling open cupboards and slamming them shut.

Sarah didn't move while she waited impatiently for the doctor to do what he needed to. Inwardly, she was dying with each second that passed. 'Hurry up!' she felt like shouting at the man. At least he wasn't asking her questions. That was a step in the right direction.

"Please hurry!" Sarah finally couldn't stand it anymore.

"I am," Bruce responded. He knew what he was looking for but couldn't seem to find it. Finally, after going half way through the lab, he found the metal case. Opening it, he examined the contents before shutting it again.

"How do we get in?" Bruce asked as he led the way to the door.

"I have a key," Sarah responded as she followed quickly behind him.

OOOOO _Yep. Things are about to get nasty again. But not for long. Avoid the next four chapters, then you should be okay. ;)_

Clint wished he could pass out. Tasha had undone him long enough to flip him onto his back. He'd tried desperately to fight her off but a twist of the dildo and a quick punch to his testicles had rendered him senseless and completely oblivious to what she was doing.

By the time Clint came back to himself he was lying on his back, his hands and legs restrained and his member presenting itself to the world. That didn't last long as Tasha climbed on top of him and lowered herself onto him.

Overwhelmed with shame and guilt, Clint turned his head away and tried to pull his limbs free. A low guttural moan passed through Tasha as she went still, enjoying the sensation of having her partner inside her. Looking down at Clint's face, she moaned anew. The pain, revulsion, and shame twisted his handsome feature. He didn't want this, she knew that, but that just increased the appeal. Slowly, luxuriously, she began to milk Clint, to get him to enjoy this as much as she was.

"Please stop," Clint breathed. He wanted desperately to just disappear. His eyes were tightly shut and he was trying unsuccessfully to block it all out. The continued agony in his back end kept him grounded, attached to his body. Tasha had left the sex toy in place. Even now he felt her reach between his legs and give it a thrust. The moan this created was one of pure agony and humiliation.

Just as Tasha was reaching her climax, Clint heard an odd popping sound. On top of him, Tasha's body went rigid. He thought for a second that she was in the grips of an orgasm but then she turned, a feral growl passing her lips. The popping sound repeated. With a huge sigh, Tasha collapsed on top of him.

"Oh my God." Clint's shame increased a hundred fold as he recognized Bruce's voice. Tasha was pulled off of him and dumped on the floor beside his bed.

"Agent Barton?" Sarah's voice was quiet as the archer felt her hands releasing the handcuffs on his arms and legs. She'd found the keys on the dresser. "I'm so sorry that it took me so long to get here."

Any reassurance Clint might have uttered died in his throat. Too ashamed to look, Clint kept his eyes tightly closed and his head turned away. He felt strong hands slowly roll him onto his right side. Bruce swore long and loud when he found the sex toy. Gently, Sarah moved the doctor out of the way, handing him the handcuffs, and indicating Tasha with a nod of her head. Swallowing bile, Sarah caught hold of the toy and extracted it. Clint's body went rigid as the agony registered. A half scream erupted from his tightly drawn lips.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Sarah breathed, her fingers slick with Clint's blood and other fluids she didn't want to identify. Her rage with the woman lying tranquilized on the floor knew no bounds. Gently, Sarah pulled the sheet up and around Clint's back. He needed more help than her and the bathroom could manage.

"Son of a bitch," Bruce swore as he looked around the room. On Clint's dresser was laid out a wide variety of other sex toys, most of them intended for bondage and pain. Running a hand through his dark hair, Bruce looked at Clint's back. Sarah was sitting behind the archer, carefully rubbing his back while the sheet covering him quickly soaked through with blood. Clint was eerily silent.

Keying his comm, Bruce left the room. "Steve, there's been an incident. I need a gurney and a restraint chair brought to Clint's quarters," he said into it.

"I'll be there as soon as possible," Steve responded instantly. Bruce was grateful as he cut the connection. Taking a huge breath, Bruce slowly blew it out as he entered the room.

Sarah hadn't moved. She was on the bed beside Clint, trying to soothe him. It was an odd picture. Added to that was Tasha lying handcuffed, shot with two tranquilizers, lying on the ground, naked.

"Son of a bitch," Bruce uttered again. It was the only thing that would come out. Carefully, Bruce manoeuvred the woman out of the way. He needed to evaluate the extent of Clint's injuries. Gently, Bruce pulled the sheet off Clint's back. The man stiffened in response.

"It's okay," Bruce said. "I need to check you out."

Clint had thought that the same and humiliation couldn't get any worse. He was wrong. With practiced precision, Bruce began examining the archer's tortured body. Clint laid still, his eyes firmly shut as he tried to distance his mind from what was being done to him, what all ready had been done to him.

"God, Clint," Bruce breathed as the full extent of the damage registered. How had this been going on for so long without anyone seeing?

Not bothering to respond, Clint turned his head further into the pillows. He still had an overwhelming need to disappear. He desperately wanted Bruce to go away. At this point he wasn't even sure he could handle having Sarah around.

A loud knock on Clint's door broke the moment. Sarah moved to the door and opened it hesitantly, not knowing who or what might be behind it. Quickly she stepped aside as Steve and Tony burst in. Tony was pushing the gurney. Steve had the restraint chair. It was the same design as the one they'd had to put Clint in after Loki got hold of him.

"Who are you?" Tony asked as he took in the maintenance uniform and security ID hanging from Sarah's neck. What the hell was she doing here? The plump woman obviously worked for him but he didn't recognize her. That wasn't terribly surprising given the number of people he employed.

"Sarah Gifford. I work maintenance. I clean Agent Barton's quarters," Sarah responded suddenly feeling very out of place.

"In here," Bruce called from the bedroom. Casting a last glance at the woman, Tony and Steve headed towards the doctor's voice.

"What the hell?" Tony exclaimed as he took in the scene in the room.

"Bruce?" Steve asked, looking at the doctor for an explanation. Clint's pale face was becoming redder and redder as he realized how many people were now here to witness his shame. A strangled sob broke through his calm veneer. Trying to stifle the next one, Clint tried to turn away from the three members of his team. Bruce caught hold of his shoulder and kept him in place. Clint managed to stop the next sob but not the tears that began falling silently down his face.

"It was Tasha. I shot her with a tranquilizer gun, twice. Get her someplace secure until we figure out what the hell is going on with her," Bruce instructed.

"Gordon Cave," Clint murmured. He still had his eyes closed. "He turned her."

"Who?" Steve and Bruce asked almost in unison. The name meant nothing to the two Avengers. Tony, however, had hacked and read everyone's files. He liked to know who he was working with.

"The guy you and Natasha couldn't get?" Tony asked. He and Steve were picking up Tasha and securing her to the chair. The last thing Steve did was throw a blanket over her naked body.

"Yeah," Clint answered. Bruce had wrapped the sheet around him before the others had entered the room. Still, shame continued to burn on his face and in his mind.

"Let's get him down to medical," Bruce suggested. Tony took the chair and pushed it from the room so Bruce would have more room for the gurney. The toys on the dresser hadn't been lost on him. He swallowed thickly at the images they created.

"I'll take her downstairs," Tony said. He glanced at Sarah on his way by. Sarah returned his gaze but didn't say anything.

"Come on, Clint," Bruce said. "Steve, can you get his legs? Just watch out for his ankles."

In his haste to get there, and to be honest, disbelief, Bruce hadn't bothered to pack a first aid kit. It wouldn't have been a lot of help but he could have wrapped the mess that were Clint's wrists and ankles. Clearly, Clint hadn't been a willing participant in any of this. He'd fought like a man possessed, the damage done to his limbs attested to that.

Gently, the two men settled the archer on the gurney. Clint wasn't showing any kind of response at all but Bruce knew he wasn't unconscious. Given his current state, Bruce didn't blame Clint for trying to avoid the ramifications for as long as possible.

As Bruce and Steve pushed the gurney towards the door, Sarah unconsciously took a step towards Clint as they wheeled him by. She knew her part of the story was over. Clint was an Avenger. She worked maintenance. She would continue to clean his quarters but invisibly as she had before. Still, she wanted to reassure herself that he was safe, finally.

As Sarah moved, Clint opened his eyes for the first time. His gaze fell on her concerned, terrified face. Reaching out, Clint caught hold of Sarah's arm. He didn't want to go through this alone. Sarah looked at Bruce, silently asking permission.

"Come on," Bruce said. He didn't want to waste any more time. Clint was bleeding fairly heavily from his wrists, ankles and anus. He needed to get him fixed up ASAP.

"Thank you," Sarah said as she moved to join them. Then they were out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hello! Yes, I know. Three chapters in one day. And, this is a really long one. Unfortunately, that makes the last one shorter. I haven't had time to beta it yet so you'll have to wait until tomorrow for me to post that one. I hope you don't mind. ;)_

_Thank you for reviewing. I'm so very happy that you're enjoying this story as much as I am. It's been a lot of fun to write._

_Enjoy_

Chapter Ten

Steve waited outside the lab door. The Avenger hadn't seen exactly what damage had been done to the archer but he didn't want to pry. Sarah and Bruce pushed the gurney to the nearest table. Clint had rolled onto his side during the journey. It hurt too damned much to lie on his back. Shame still burned brightly in him. How the hell had he let Tasha do all of this to him?

"Easy, Clint," Bruce said. He and Sarah had taken hold of the archer and were going to move him onto the examination table. The amount of blood left on the gurney when they did terrified Sarah as they settled Clint on the table.

"Is he going to be okay?" Sarah asked quietly as Bruce began opening packs and kits, getting everything he might need ready.

"Yes," Bruce reassured the woman. He was well aware of Hulk trying to break through to go pummel Tasha into oblivion. He was also aware that Clint had hold of Sarah's forearm again. Gently, she removed his grip on her. Lying his arm down on the mattress, she patted it, trying to soothe him. Taking a deep breath, Bruce plunged in.

Quickly it became apparent to Bruce that Sarah knew her way around surgical instruments and treating the wounded. Her assistance was invaluable to him as he made his way from Clint's stitched and bandaged limbs to the other, more personal injuries.

"Have you done this before?" Bruce asked. Sarah had sterile gloves on, as did he, and was passing him instruments and gauze without him having to ask. Before turning to these injuries, Bruce gave Clint a strong sedative. The archer didn't need to be awake for this.

"On animals," Sarah admitted. She'd developed a professional detachment from what they were doing. It made it easier that Bruce had covered Clint in surgical drapes while he worked on first his rectum and then his testicles.

"How did you wind up doing maintenance?" Bruce asked. He desperately needed to distract the Hulk from what he was doing. The big guy was absolutely furious. Talking helped.

"It's complicated," was all Sarah would say.

"Yeah," Bruce agreed. "It usually is."

OOOOO

Just as Bruce was dressing the final burn the whole building shook with a resounding thud. Images of the World Trade Center came to Sarah's mind unbidden. The instrument tray they'd just finished using tried to fall on top of Clint's sleeping form, she caught it just in time.

"What was that?" Sarah asked, looking up at Bruce. She'd been so intent on what they were doing that she hadn't really looked at him before. Now that she was she started to feel out of place again.

"I'm not sure," Bruce admitted. Pulling his gloves off, Bruce keyed his comm. "What's going on?"

"We're being attached," Tony stated his voice tense. "No real details. Keep Clint safe. I'll fill you in when we know more."

Bruce glanced at Steve through the window on the lab door. Captain America nodded at the doctor. Turning, he sprinted down the hallway.

With a sigh, Bruce laid a hand on Clint's shoulder. He was on his right side on the table. It really was the lesser of all the evils. On the other side of the table, Sarah was just finished cleaning up the instruments.

"Let's get him on a bed," Bruce said, releasing the brakes on the gurney and bringing it over to the table.

Within minutes they had Clint situated on one of the three beds in the infirmary. Tony obviously wasn't planning on having very many casualties at one time. Bruce just hoped he was right.

Automatically, Sarah settled on the chair beside Clint's bed. If they would let her she was going to stay. "What will happen to her?" she asked. "Black Widow, I mean." Sarah was watching Clint's face as he slept. Even in sleep he looked like he was in pain, his attractive features grimacing randomly. Her rage intensified again.

"I don't know," Bruce replied. Unsure of what else to do, the scientist drew up one of the other chairs. "You've been taking care of him for a while, haven't you?"

"Since the first night I found him," Sarah admitted. At the sound of Sarah's voice, Clint shifted a little closer to her. The IV's and other machines monitoring his vital signs wouldn't let him more very far. Tenderly, Sarah took hold of Clint's nearest hand. "It's been a very long few days for both of us."

The building shook again, and again, and again. Frightened, Sarah stood and held Clint in place on the bed, just in case. Before Bruce had time to get his comm out it was ringing.

"We need the green guy," Tony said. His voice had that quality that told Bruce that he was in his suit. "North face. Now!"

"I'll watch over him," Sarah assured the doctor when Bruce hesitated, torn between his two responsibilities.

"All right. Keep him safe," Bruce said before turning and sprinting out of the lab. As he ran, he pulled off the lab coat he'd been wearing, discarding it on the floor. Then he was working on his shirt. As he disappeared around a corner, Sarah was convinced he suddenly sounded heavier.

The building shifted again. Amid the falling objects Sarah heard another sound. Clint had moaned as he slowly came around. Pasting a smile on her face, Sarah moved to look the archer in the eye. The pain she saw in those blue depths nearly broke her heart as they blinked and finally came to rest on her.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said. She was battling her own demons for taking so long to get help. If she'd been faster to convince the doctor the blond archer might not have been injured quite so severely. "I'm so very sorry."

"It's okay,' Clint slurred, still fighting the drug Bruce had given him. "Tasha?"

"They took her away," Sarah said as she settled back onto the chair. The building shook. In the distance Sarah thought she heard weapons fire. Clint struggled to sit up, his wounds and tubes brought him up short by several inches, feet even.

"What's going on?" Clint managed as he settled back down on the bed. Whatever was happening he was out of the fight. He couldn't even sit at the moment, much less stand.

"Mr. Stark said something about the building being under attack. Dr. Banner and Mr. Rogers went to help," Sarah said. The building shook. Hard. Sarah caught hold of Clint's hand with both of hers.

"Cave," Clint said his voice barely audible.

"I hope you're wrong," Sarah said. When the building shook the next time the light fixture above Clint's bed shook loose and nearly fell on him. "Screw this."

Quickly, ignoring the sparks coming down from the fixture, Sarah pulled all the linen off the bed beside them. Then she tossed it under the bed Clint was lying on. Sarah unplugged Clint from the machine and pushed it out of the way. Then, gently, she moved Clint off the bed and under it. They needed some form of protection from raining debris. The last thing she did before joining the man on the floor was to get his IV off the pole and drag it under with them.

Sarah curled up against Clint's back. She wanted to protect the work Bruce had done on his back end from further damage. As soon as Clint felt her behind him, he stiffened, preparing for something bad to happen. The only thing that did was Sarah carefully drew an arm over top of him and moved a little closer. She made sure she wasn't close enough to put pressure of any kind on his injuries but she was covered by the bed at the same time.

"Thankfully, they chose to use this older kind of beds," Sarah said conversationally. "We couldn't climb under the newer types."

Closing his eyes, Clint chose not to respond. Bruce must have given him something for pain because he wasn't feeling much except for an occasional twinge. His body really wanted to rest though. Without realizing it, Clint slipped into a deep, healing sleep.

For her part, Sarah held onto the Avenger as tightly as she dared while the world shook around them. She wished she had some idea of what was going on outside but she had to be content with listening to Clint breathe among the creaking and shaking.

OOOOO

An hour later, the building was shaking even harder. The bed above them trembled as several roofing tiles fell down on top of it. Sarah was grateful that she'd moved Clint. The Avenger was still sleeping sounding under her arm. Sarah suspected it had more to do with the sedative than anything else but it was a good thing.

A deep booming sound reverberated through the building. Desperately, Sarah prayed that Tony built this place well enough to handle the onslaught. Sarah's fear skyrocketed to full blown terror. Again images and stories from the terrorist attacks on 9-11 burst into her mind. The fighting seemed to be centered on the lower levels of the tower. Sarah wasn't sure if that was a good thing or bad. Visions of the tower falling over or collapsing kept playing through her mind.

"Clint Barton!" a male voice with an accent boomed from somewhere by the lab door. Unsure if the voice belonged to friend or foe, Sarah carefully extracted her body from under the bed and padded over the debris to look around the corner at the door. The large blond man standing there dressed in some kind of armour had to be Thor. She'd seen him in the building before. The man intimidated her to no end.

"Miss?" Thor asked, surprised by the woman's presence. Given the damage to the building he'd expected her to have exited it, leaving Clint here unprotected. She was a civilian after all.

"Agent Barton is over here," Sarah said. She turned and made her way back to Clint. The man was still blissfully unaware.

The large man pushed the bed out of his way, hunkered down into a crouch and carefully picked Clint up like a child. Clint's head rested between his shoulder and neck, Thor's arms supporting his back and his legs. He appeared to be barely even straining under the archer's weight. Sarah pulled the IV out from under the table and placed it on Clint's stomach before Thor's actions could dislodge it. "Follow me," Thor instructed. Silently, Sarah brought up the rear as they exited the lab.

OOOOO

The two made their way to the roof where Nick Fury and his air ship waited. The others were still fighting the assaulting force with only moderate success. The attackers seemed to be concentrating a lot of fire power on a specific location of the building. It wasn't lost on Nick Fury that Natasha Romanoff was being held in the levels below that. To reach her underground, any rescue attempt would have to come from above.

"I'm not sure I should be doing this," Sarah said. She was staring at the landing ramp of the ship. This wasn't where she belonged. She'd stopped dead in her tracks.

"There is no time to discuss this. Get on board," Thor ordered. He stood at the top of the ramp, Clint Barton held easily in his arms. Swallowing her fear, Sarah climbed up towards them. She'd come this far. There wasn't much use in backing down now.

"Take him to medical," Nick Fury ordered as Sarah reached the top of the ramp. He scanned the archer's condition as Thor walked by him. Clint looked like death warmed over. "You I need to talk to."

"Yes, sir," Sarah said. She felt very small and out of place on the ship. Obediently, she followed the tall, one eyed man to the bridge of the ship. All she wanted to do was get the hell off and go home.

"Now," Nick said as he settled in his chair. "Tell me everything."

Trying to ignore all the people bustling around her, Sarah launched into her narrative.

OOOOO

Nightmares haunted Clint's sleep. Huge men used him for their own pleasure, thrusting deep into his body, ripping and tearing the delicate skin. Women also used him in ways he'd never thought possible. Yet, he was completely helpless to stop them. Bile, shame and humiliation tried to suffocate him. Clint swallowed quickly to keep the bile from coming up. He was unsuccessful.

The vile, hot liquid burst up his throat and out his nose and mouth. Coughing, Clint tried to move his head away from the mess he'd made only to find he couldn't. Panic erupted through his mind and body. No, no, no, no, not again. Desperately, Clint pulled against the restraints holding him to the bed. His blue eyes flew open and began to scan his surroundings. It didn't make sense.

"You've all right, Agent Barton," a female voice said. Then a pretty blond nurse came into Clint's line of sight. His struggles continued unabated.

"Agent Barton," the nurse said her voice taking on a scolding edge. "We are in the air. You are being restrained to your bed in case of evasive manoeuvres, nothing else. Please, calm down."

The speech did nothing to allay Clint's fears. The memories of the handcuffs were too new, too traumatic. A low groan turned into an almost animal like growl as he fought even harder.

"Hawkeye," Thor said, stepping up beside the bed. "Rest yourself. I am watching over you."

Slumping exhausted onto the bed, Clint looked at the big god out of the corner of his eye. "Sarah?"

"The human female that was with you? Nick Fury is speaking with her now."

Clint relaxed further, his eyes sliding closed again. He was so very tired. Now even Thor and Fury knew his shame. Damn it. "The others?" he asked as he fought to stay awake.

"Still battling at the tower," Thor responded.

"Go help them." With those final words, Clint quit fighting and slipped back into unconsciousness. Thor stood still for several seconds, watching the blond man sleep. Humans were capable of great compassion and great cruelty. Thor wasn't sure he'd ever understand them.

"He'll be sleeping for a while, sir," the nurse assured Thor.

Satisfied, Thor headed out of the sick bay.

OOOOO

Now that her mini interrogation was over, Sarah had been shuffled to the corner of the command center. She was trying to keep out of the way. The room was busy trying to help the Avengers coordinate their attacks. Their attackers were well armed and well versed on the Avengers' weaknesses. They exploited all of them while a few ships pounded away on the building. Finally, they broke through. An assault force jumped off the first ship and swarmed inside.

Within minutes, the team came back out, Tasha wearing prison clothes suspended between two of them. As soon as they were on board the ship, it beat a hasty retreat.

"Damn it," Nick Furry swore. He began shouting orders. The crew of his ship knew their jobs and set course to follow them. They were quickly distracted, however, by three attacking ships. Before they could deal with even one of them the ship containing Tasha was gone.

Abruptly, the attackers broke off and scattered, heading in different directions. The Avengers tried to follow but only Tony really had the right equipment. When the ship he was following realized it couldn't shake Iron Man, it blew itself up. The fiery wreckage fell into the ocean like rain.

OOOOO

"She got away?" Tony demanded. The Avengers, minus Clint who was still recovering on board Nick Fury's ship, were gathered on the roof of Tony's building. Most of the rest of it was too unstable to enter.

"Yes," Steve stated. There was no conceivable excuse for allowing this to happen so he gave none.

"Do we know what happened to her?" Bruce asked. He was itching to go find Clint. He wanted to see with his own eyes that the man was okay. Images of what Tasha had done to him haunted the doctor. There was no way the woman was in her right mind.

"Nick Fury had time to do some tests before he had to board his ship," Thor stated. He hadn't made it to the fight and had spent his time on the bridge, talking with Fury. "There were some anomalies on the brain scans that he hadn't seen after her return. For more information you will have to question him."

"Son of a bitch," Tony swore. He had his helmet open. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair.

"Where is Sarah?" Bruce asked. While cleaning Clint's wounds he'd thought to ask her what her name was.

"Who?" Tony asked. His thoughts were only partially there. Most of his mind was occupied with analyzing and trying to deconstruct the weapons and ships their attackers had used. They were unlike anything he'd run across before.

"The maintenance woman who's been taking care of Clint virtually since this started," Bruce reported.

"Nick Fury allowed her to return to her dwelling. The doctor on board his ship would not let her stay with Hawkeye," Thor stated. He'd spent too much time on board the ship. If he'd been out helping the others Natasha might not have gotten away. The thought angered him.

"That might not be a good idea," Bruce murmured almost to himself while he was deep in thought. Shaking himself out of his revere, he spoke louder. "I need to go check on Barton."

Not bothering to wait for the others, Bruce headed for the door leading off of the roof.

"Hold on, doc. I'll give you a ride," Tony stated. His building wasn't exactly safe at the moment for the doctor to climb all the way to the ground in the stairway. Catching hold of the dark haired scientist, Tony applied his boosters and they left the roof.

OOOOO

The nightmares were back. While still living through them, Clint tried to move. Again he was restrained. Panic flowed through him. Coming awake with a jolt, Clint took in his surroundings with a glance.

"It's all right, Agent Barton." The nurse was back, hovering over him. "The restraints are for your protection."

"Get...them...off!" Clint demanded through clenched teeth. Ignoring the woman's reassuring sounds, Clint struggled and strained against his bonds. He felt his burns, wrists and ankles ripping open and the movement wreaked havoc with the damage below his waist but he didn't care.

"Agent Barton, calm down or I will have to sedate you for your own protection," the nurse said, catching hold of the agent. Her touch only seemed to agitate him more. Clint's struggles increased exponentially. "Doctor!"

"Let go of him," Dr. Banner ordered. In a heartbeat he was at Clint's side, bodily removing the nurse. "Clint, Clint, calm down."

Despite Clint's continued struggles, Bruce got the restraints undone. Kneeling down beside Clint's bed, Bruce waited while the archer tried to get a hold of himself again.

"Where are we?" Clint asked. He only had dim memories of the first time he was on board this ship and none of them had included sick bay.

"The infirmary on board Fury's ship," Bruce responded. "You're safe."

"Where's Tasha?" Clint demanded. Not quite sure he believed Bruce his eyes kept scanning the area he could see while on his side. It hurt too damned much to lie anywhere else.

"She got away, with help," Bruce replied. He didn't believe in lying to the man. He was going to find out sooner or later.

"Damn it," Clint swore. His blue eyes closed briefly. Of course she did. That was what Tasha did best. He wasn't safe. Not while Gordon Cave and Natasha were free. "Fuck."

"Yeah, I know," Bruce sympathized.

"Sarah?" Clint hated to admit it but waking to find the woman was gone was nearly as upsetting as being restrained. It was a dependence he knew he was going to have to get over, quickly. But not right now. Now while the nightmares tortured him every time he closed his eyes.

"Fury sent her home after being debriefed," Bruce said. He witnessed the momentary fear that passed over Clint's features when he realized the woman wasn't on board with him.

"Oh," Clint said. It was the only thing he could think of.

"Avengers' tower has been damaged pretty extensively. I think Fury is making other arrangements," Bruce said. He'd pulled a chair over beside Clint and sat down on it so he was more at the man's level. It was disturbing talking to the side of his face.

"Would you like something to help you sleep, Agent Barton?" The nurse was back. Clint visibly tensed in her presence. "I noticed you seem to be having trouble sleeping."

"NO!" Clint barely kept from yelling at the woman. The thought of being trapped within his nightmares was unbearable.

"I'm Agent Barton's doctor. I was the first person to treat him," Bruce stated. The nurse held Clint's clipboard to her chest defensively. After all, they were only trying to do what they thought was best. Careful not to touch the woman, Bruce took the clipboard from her. With practiced ease he read through the orders and made some notes on the file. "Don't treat him with anything without talking to me first."

"Yes, doctor," the nurse said, casting Clint a hard look, before quickly leaving.

"Thanks," Clint said, genuinely grateful. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep in his own bed. Wait. He no longer had his own bed. Despair threatened to deepen, to drag him under.

"No problem," Bruce said. Before they had a chance to continue their discussion the other members of the Avengers came into sick bay. Clint wanted to disappear but the others quickly put him at ease. They spent time telling him of their exploits during the attack and then Tony explained what he'd figured out from their weapons and ship design. None of it was good. By the time they were done, Bruce had to hustle them out of the room. Clint was asleep before they reached the door.

OOOOO

The new building wasn't quite as fancy as the old one. Tony was getting the tower repaired as fast as he could but Clint was just happy to have some place to call his own.

His mobility was greatly reduced and slowed to a crawl but Clint refused help when he was allowed to go home. By the time he reached his apartment he was exhausted. Bruce tried to not be obvious as he took hold of Clint's right arm and steered him from the front door straight to the bedroom.

"Home sweet home," Bruce said as he settled Clint onto the edge of the bed.

"Yeah," Clint responded. "Something like that."

"We'll find her," Bruce assured the younger man. Fury kept Clint in sick bay for three days until he was sure all of the archer's plumbing worked. It had been Bruce's idea. There were too many dangers involved with some of the damage Tasha had done.

"No. They won't," Clint responded. Slowly, carefully, he was climbing onto his bed. He was wearing hospital clothes but he didn't have the energy to change. "That's what she's best at."

"We're better," Bruce stated with more conviction than he felt.

"No, you're not." Clint was feeling particularly fatalistic at the moment. It was hard to keep a stiff upper lip with the nightmares still torturing him.

"Have faith," Bruce said. "We won't give up."

"Neither will she," Clint grunted.

"You know she isn't herself. Fury's people are trying to figure out from the brain scans what Gordon Cave did to her. They'll figure out how to get her back."

"Maybe," Clint said, not convinced. His partner was gone. He had come to terms with that. Or at least he tried to convince himself he had.

"I have a surprise for you." Bruce was trying to distract the archer from his gloom. "Fury's okayed someone to sit with you at night for a few days, just in case you need something."

"No." The thought of having anyone with him when he awoke panting and sweating from his nightmares was too much. Enough people had all ready witnessed his shame. He didn't want to expand the group that knew.

"You might change your mind. Give it a chance."

There was a soft knock on the door. Bruce left to let the person in. Growling under his breath, Clint tried to find a comfortable position on the bed. Even with the pain killers and anti inflammatory, he didn't have many positions left.

Bruce returned, steering a person into Clint's room. The archer didn't bother to look up.

"Hello, Agent Barton," Sarah said, her face slightly flushed.

"Hello!" Clint responded as he looked up at her quickly. A smile spread across his handsome face for the first time in days.

"I told you to give it a chance," Bruce said. He handed Sarah Clint's chart and his meds. Clint's IV was gone so his medications were now given orally. The woman would be able to handle it either way. Clint would be comfortable in her presence while he slept. That had been his argument when he approached Fury. Finally he'd had to demand it based on his being Clint's doctor. Fury was not thrilled with him. "I'll check back on you in the morning. Good night."

"Good night, Dr. Banner," Sarah responded automatically. It was such a relief to see Clint awake, aware and pain free. Well, relatively.

"I was afraid you were out of a job now that the tower is damaged," Clint said. Sarah had skimmed his medical records. It didn't hold any surprises. She was eternally grateful that he didn't have a urinary catheter or colostomy. She'd seem more than enough of the man's anatomy all ready. Both devices had been definite possibilities given his injuries.

"So was I to be honest. This was Dr. Banner's idea," Sarah responded. She placed the medicine and chart on the dresser before sitting down in a chair and pulling out a book.

"I'm glad," Clint said. Sleep was trying to steal over him. He fought it tooth and nail. The nightmares were getting worse. He didn't feel up to facing them.

"So am I. It's okay, Agent Barton. You can sleep. I'll be watching over you," Sarah assured him. The troubled look clouding the archer's eyes nearly brought tears to her eyes. He'd been through so much. She was amazed he was still sane.

Before Clint could protest sleep stole over him. Seeing Clint's eyes flutter shut, Sarah picked up her book and began to read. She hoped it was going to be a long night. Clint needed the sleep


	11. Chapter 11

_Hello. This is the final chapter. Well, kind of. I've been approached by myownmind. She'd like to do the sequel to this with a little less mature content. I agreed. I'd like to see what she comes up with. I think she said the name would be 'Redemption'. I'm not sure when she will be posting the first chapter. _

_Thank ever so much for my faithful reviewers. You totally rock! Your comments helped keep me motivated so I'm going to dedicate the last chapter to you. Thank you, thank you, thank you._

_Enjoy_

Chapter Eleven

Time passed. It was getting harder and harder for Sarah to stay awake. Reading only made matters worse. Silently, she stood up and paced around the room. That helped a bit.

Just as she was going to return to her seat Sarah heard a small moan. Turning her attention to Clint she found that he was in the grips of a nightmare. His face was twisted with pain and fear. Sweat had broken out on his face, all ready soaking his short blond hair.

"Agent Barton," Sarah said, trying to wake him up. Even shaking his shoulder hard didn't get a response. No matter what she tried she was unsuccessful. "Agent Barton?"

Sarah knew exactly what was happening in Clint's dream by the way he was moving. The memories of what Tasha had done to him were still very close. The low moans were quickly being replaced by louder ones. Desperately, Sarah wrapped her arms around the archer, pulling him towards her.

At first contact Clint flinched from her and tried to move away. Not letting go, Sarah continued to pull him towards her until she had him in a tight embrace. His head was resting on the crook of her neck. She had him partially raised into a sitting position but not quite. Slowly, oh so slowly, the nightmare began to release its hold on the man.

The moans changed to low grunts and gradually transitioned to sobs. Still holding Clint tightly, Sarah rocked him very gently and began to murmur reassuring things to him. It was an instinctual response, as close to being maternal as she'd ever allowed herself to be. Clint's arm slowly snaked around her truck as her presence registered in his tortured consciousness.

If anything the sobs increased in strength. Sarah felt her shirt quickly becoming wet with tears. Still, she gently rocked him as Clint cried the shame and humiliation out of his system.

The content of Sarah's words never changed. Always she told Clint that none of it had been his fault. That he wasn't responsible for anything Tasha had done to him. And that he'd all ready done the hardest part, he'd survived. It took a while but eventually the meaning of her words began to sink in as the sobs grew less.

Clint wasn't sure if he was awake but for the moment he was content to be mothered. It was a new experience for him and not entirely unpleasant. In fact, it was exactly what he needed at the moment. Eventually Clint sighed as he finally fell into a deep, healing sleep. Her back protesting the awkward angle she was crouching in, Sarah stayed where she was for uncounted minutes before finally extracting herself from Clint's embrace.

Tenderly, Sarah wiped the tears off his face and settled the archer back into his bed. Then she pulled the blankets up over him before planting a kiss on his sweaty head.

For the next while Sarah stayed by Clint's bed, running her hand through his close cropped hair to ensure the nightmares stayed away. This time she was successful.

OOOOO

The next morning, Bruce walked into the room to find Sarah asleep sitting on the chair she'd pulled over beside Clint's bed. Her hands were interlaced with the archer's and her forehead rested on them. For his part, Clint looked better rested than he had for days. It seemed the man had turned a corner. Bruce knew he was going to be okay.

The search for Natasha and Gordon Cave would continue until they were found. Until then the Avengers were going to have to keep an eye on Hawkeye. For as long as he'd let them. Looking down at the sleeping duo, Bruce hoped that the search would be over quickly. Somehow, though, he doubted it.

Taking a chair, Bruce decided to wait until Clint and Sarah woke up naturally. Clint's next pills weren't for another hour and a half. They had time. They just looked too peaceful for him to disturb them. Picking up Sarah's book, he was mildly surprised to find that it was hard core science fiction, not that romantic, fluffy crap that was so abundant of late. Opening it to the first page, he began to read.

Bruce was on the third chapter when he heard Sarah begin to stir. She shifted in her chair, carefully stretching cramped muscles as she looked around the room.

"Damn it," she swore as she realized it was daytime and that Dr. Banner was watching her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay. There's still half an hour until his next round of pills is due," Bruce said. "Besides, I think you can both use the sleep."

Sighing, Sarah looked down at Clint's sleeping form. She wanted so desperately to protect him, to keep any of this from every happening again but she knew she couldn't. Clint had to live his life, one not wrapped in a protective cocoon. That wasn't who he was.

Under her scrutiny, Clint's eyes fluttered open. After a few quick blinks they came to rest on Sarah's face. The deep turmoil was gone from the blue depths. Sarah was grateful for that. She could still see deep shame, though. He was going to have to work on that. Suddenly, Sarah was aware of how deeply into her own soul the archer was seeing. Coughing, Sarah looked away, her cheeks turning red.

"Good morning," Bruce said from his chair. He'd witnessed the whole exchange. It was kind of sweet.

"Morning," Clint responded trying to cover up the fact that he hadn't noticed the doctor's presence. Experimentally, he stretched on the bed to see how sore he was. Happily, it was better than yesterday.

Suddenly all business, Sarah stood up and retrieved the chart and medication. She was better than this. By falling asleep she'd nearly wreaked havoc with the medication schedule. Silently she cursed herself. To cover it up, she began to select the pills she was going to have to administer in just a few minutes.

"I don't need those," Clint said from the bed.

"Are you sure?" Bruce asked, watching the archer carefully.

"Yeah," Clint responded. To prove the point, he rolled over onto his back and sat up on the bed. It still felt very uncomfortable to sit but it wasn't nearly as painful as it had been. It was at a level he could manage without pills to cloud his mind and body.

"If you're sure," Bruce said. "But I want you to keep taking the antibiotics until they're gone."

"Sure thing, doc," Clint agreed. Antibiotics were a good idea given some of his injuries.

"I'd better go," Sarah announced abruptly. She was feeling very out of place again. Putting the pills and chart back on the dresser, she turned to leave.

"Will you be back tonight?" Clint asked before she reached the door. He didn't want to ask, to be so weak but the nightmares were still there, lurking in the dark, waiting to pounce. Having Sarah around helped.

Sarah stopped at the door and turned to face Clint. The archer had moved over to the side of the bed and was sitting on it. At the moment he looked almost like his old self. If it wasn't for the haunted cast in his blue eyes she'd be convinced. "Yes, Agent Barton. For as long as you need me to."

"Please, Sarah, call me Clint," the Archer said, a slow smile lighting his face.

Sarah glanced over at Bruce. The doctor had an amused expression on his face which he quickly extinguished. The woman really was too damned formal.

"All right, Clint. I'll be back around 10." Nodding at the doctor, Sarah took her leave.

"When can I start working out again?" Clint asked, turning his attention to Bruce. It really was uncomfortable to sit. As casually as he could muster, Clint climbed to his feet and headed for the living room. He knew Bruce would follow,

"I'd love to see you give it another week," Bruce said. Clint shot him a look. "Give it another forty eight hours, Clint, please." He'd snagged the bottle of antibiotics on his way by and was opening it to extract one. "You've been through a lot. Give your body time to heal."

"It's had long enough," Clint grated. Nothing in the living room held his interest so he padded into the kitchen. Opening the fridge he found it to be well stocked. Good.

"Not nearly long enough," Bruce countered. He stepped past Clint, retrieved a glass from the cupboard which he filled with milk, and handing them both to Clint. "Take this."

For a moment Clint considered refusing. Sighing, he accepted the pill and the glass. He popped the pill in his mouth and chased it with the milk. Once the glass was empty, he placed it in the sink. "How about some breakfast?"

"Are you cooking or am I?" Bruce wanted to know. Clint was a very good cook. Bruce was half hoping he was going to offer. The other half knew it would probably be too much for the man.

"Me," Clint responded as he began to pull pans out.

"Only if you let me help," Bruce said. He took a pan from Clint. "Just tell me what to do."

The two men proceeded to cook a meal fit for four people. Clint was really hungry and so was Bruce. As the two men settled down at Clint's kitchen table to devour their creations, Bruce couldn't put it off any longer.

"I know Sarah told Nick Fury as much as she knows but I'd like to hear your side of the story," Bruce said, looking at Clint intently. For his part, the archer was suddenly very interested in the scrambled eggs he was spooning onto his plate. "Please, Clint. You need to talk about this."

"No I don't," Clint grunted. The food tasted like sawdust but he doggedly stuffed it into his mouth.

"I understand that you had missions that involved Romanoff and Gordon Cave. Somehow he's managed to capture Tasha and brainwash her faster than anyone else in the world. Why is he doing this?" Bruce pressed. He continued to load his plate with the delicious food the two of them had made. It was putting a sour tone on their feast but some of the others, i.e. Tony, were pressing to find out what was going on.

"He's doing it to make me suffer," Clint stated his voice low. He couldn't look up at the doctor. "The first mission we had destroyed his empire. We blew up his cache of weapons that he was trying to sell, along with his mansion. The second time he barely managed to escape. I got one shot off and hit him in the leg. Apparently he still sports a limp."

"So he brainwashed Tasha to what? Hurt you? Torture you? I still don't understand why you didn't come to us when she broke your ribs. That was first, right?" Bruce asked. Clint was refusing to look up from his food. He knew this conversation was making the archer uncomfortable. Hell, it was making him uncomfortable. But it needed to be discussed. He didn't want Clint to hide from them, from the nightmares or the memories. The longer he hid, the harder it was going to be to deal with it.

"I couldn't," Clint muttered. He'd given up all pretence of eating and was simply pushing the food around his plate.

"Why not, Clint. I asked you that night outside the theatre if you were all right. You lied to me. Why?"

"I had to. Cave told Tasha that if any of you figured out what she was doing to me she had to kill you. She was going to force me to watch while she did it. The pain I could handle. Being responsible for someone's death I couldn't, especially one of you guys," Clint admitted.

"God, Clint," Bruce breathed as he realized the weight the archer had been carrying. No wonder he lied. "You let her do this to you to protect us? Didn't you have enough faith in us, our abilities, to think we might be able to protect ourselves?"

"No. No, I know you can't protect yourselves. Hell, even I will have a very hard time staying alive when she decides to kill me," Clint nearly shouted as he pushed up from his chair and began to pace around the room. "She's an assassin. It's what she does. It's ALL she does."

"Clint. You know that we can stand against her if we're together, watching each others' backs. The things she did to you, God. Clint..." Bruce couldn't finish the thought as images of the damage he and Sarah had fixed raged through his mind. Suddenly his food wasn't sitting so well in his stomach. He too stood up and tried to catch Clint on the way by.

"I didn't LET her do any of this," Clint shouted. When Bruce reached out to stop him he rounded on the man, barely keeping from beating the doctor. He was so damned angry...at himself...at Tasha...Gordon Cave...and for Bruce indicating that he'd let the woman RAPE him without a fight. "She drugged me to break my ribs. She caught me in the shower. While in there she used her threats against all of you to use scalding hot water to burn me. By the time she tried to freeze me to death I didn't have it in me to fight any more. Besides, she kept flaunting what she'd do to you if I didn't comply. I didn't LET her do anything."

"Clint, I'm sorry!" Bruce said. He hadn't meant the words to come out as an accusation. He'd seen the wounds Clint had inflicted on himself trying to get away, trying to defend himself. "I never meant it to sound like what happened was your fault. I know you fought. I sewed up your wrists and ankles. God, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault," Clint said. Sighing, he physically shook himself to pull his mind out of the dark spiral he'd been heading for. "Someday Gordon Cave is going to pay for all of this. I plan on being the one to put the arrow through his black heart."

"I want to be there to see that," Bruce said. He wasn't a blood thirsty man but he knew Hulk wanted to pull Cave limb from limb. He had to agree with the green guy.

"I'll give you a front row seat," Clint said, a small, crooked smile on his face. The adrenaline burned out of his system. Clint barely made it back to the chair. "Is that enough talking for now?"

"More than enough," Bruce agreed. He settled down at the table. The food was still warm. He was still very hungry. Tentatively, Bruce began to eat again. Taking his lead, Clint turned his attention to his own plate. The food tasted a lot better than before. Silently, the duo tore into the meal they'd made together.

OOOOO

In the days that followed making breakfast at Clint's became part of their routine when they weren't on a mission. Bruce would stop in every morning to check on Clint. They talked when Clint felt like it, they didn't when he didn't. Bruce took his signals from the other man's moods.

On the third day they asked Sarah to join them for breakfast. She declined. Clint needed her less and less. She wanted to keep the transition clean without muddying the waters by getting personal. It was cold hearted of her but she was worried about her own heart as much as the archer's. She didn't have kids, never would, so right now Clint was kind of filling a place she hadn't known was empty.

After the fourth night Sarah didn't come to sit with Clint anymore. The nightmares were still present but were drastically reduced in their frequency and severity. All he needed now was time and Natasha's capture. But so far, they were coming up empty on that front.

Two weeks after the Avengers had moved into their temporary housing a mission came up. Wearing his gear, Clint climbed on board the helicopter that would take Steve, Thor and himself to the hot spot. In his hands Clint held the new bow and arrows Tony had designed for him along with several other types of arrows.

For the first time in a long time, Clint felt okay. He felt almost like none of this had happened. Almost. Sinking into the seat, Clint strapped in and prepared to enjoy the ride. Tasha was still out there. So was Gordon. Well, they'd find them eventually one way or another. For now, Clint would deal with things as they came. For now, he was content to just be Hawkeye.

The helicopter lifted off.

THE END

_Me again. Now that I think about it, I might do my own sequel. I'm not sure I'm quite ready to stop torturing poor Clint. I'll discuss it with myownmind and see if our visions differ. If they do, I'll be writing the sequel soon. Thanks for going for this ride with me. I've enjoyed every minute of it. *evil chuckle*_


End file.
